I took up the violin when I turned 33. To this day, I’m not sure what possessed me. One day, the idea just popped into my head—it didn’t matter how old I was, I could learn the violin if I wanted to. A week later, I owned a good quality used violin, a lovingly worn second-hand violin case, an inexpensive bow, a small cake of amber rosin and the phone number of a violin teacher who accepted adult students (apparently, there’s a special knack to teaching violin to the less pliable adult mind).
I’d wanted to play the violin since I fell in love with fiddle music in my early twenties. But I scoffed at the thought of picking it up back then, pinned down by my own limiting belief that it was an instrument one could only learn in childhood. But, for some unknown reason that day, the powerful thought, an epiphany, really—that it’s never too late to learn—struck a deep chord in me and kept resonating until I finally acted on it. I had no goal in mind other than to play the violin simply for the joy of learning and, possibly, hopefully, one day, to be able to play well enough to strike up a few fiddle tunes as my partner strummed his guitar. I reasoned that if I only practiced fifteen minutes every day, in time I’d be somewhere—I didn’t know where exactly, but no matter how bad I was, in five or ten years I’d be someplace farther up the road. Since I was starting from point zero, there was no way I couldn’t improve.
Ah… it’s that fun time of year again when Peter and Lillian come around. They generally show up sometime in early spring, I’m never quite sure exactly when they’ll arrive, I just know they always do.
I love seeing them. They stay for a couple of weeks and hide foil-wrapped chocolate eggs all about the place—now that’s my kind of house guest. It’s very fun when they’re around because I never know where I might find a little chocolate treat: in my make-up bag, in the butter-keeper, perched on top of a picture frame or in an empty pot in the cupboard. It takes me a while to find them all, especially as they seem to replenish them often. And they are so good at hiding them that I often find some long after they’ve left.
For me, music is like air: it’s vital to my well-being and happiness. It feeds my body, my mind, and my soul. I need it as much as the air I breathe. I love the diversity of music available at our finger tips. I love that there are so many musical styles and genres to choose from. I love the musicians, singers, songwriters and composers of this world. I appreciate all the recording and sound engineers out there putting it all together so we can enjoy listening to fabulous music almost anywhere. I also love any project or happy gathering, live or otherwise, that can bring together the diverse peoples and cultures which weave the beautiful tapestry of this planet. And I’ll never cease to wonder at all the technology which makes such a project possible (including the fact that I have the capability to share some of it via this blog).