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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

Scribbles and Scrambles - Thanksgiving Screeching


I would never have considered myself a precocious child. But through adult eyes, I'm afraid I must label myself truthfully. So, precocious I was.

I love music. In a weird spectator kind of way.

I took piano lessons for several years. Two, maybe, and quit with tears and whining and the horrible classic warning that I'd be sorry some day. Yes, I am sorry.


I think my problem is that I wanted to be able to play without the tedium of practice. In fourth grade I entered orchestra and my violin period.

Three months into my beginning violin book, my family requested that I play a little ditty during Thanksgiving dinner. This is how my grandma described it to my children. "Your mom stood, giggling, at the corner of the table while we all waited. Finally, your grandpa told her to step out of the room and play without having to look at us. The song finally began and went a lot like this. Screech, giggle, screech, giggle, giggle, giggle, screech."

It's probably a good thing for my children that I wasn't my mother. (If you figure that out...good for you...means your mind is thoroughly twisted...if you are scratching your head just move on. Trust me.)
For two years I tortured this fine music box and eventually produced music. My time ended when the new school I attended didn't have an orchestra.

A couple of years ago I decided to teach myself guitar. A friend and I got books and a video and had at it. We learned a few chords, had some fun, never played a song, then gave up.

Within months of that little project I visited a church that had a violinist. Why did I ever resist practicing and give it up? What a beautiful instrument.

I still had it. I decided I might remember something. I opened the case and the familiar scents washed over me. I lifted the glossy wood from the faux velvet, tightened the bow, set the violin between my shoulder and chin...and waited.

After all those years, I could still conjure the smell of resin but not one hint of what came next.

Recently, I purchased a how to play the violin book. If I begin practicing and relearning will it come back? Do I have what it takes? Could I give a repeat performance at Thanksgiving next year? I suppose I could eek out screech, giggle, screech, screech.

Have a melodic Monday as you prepare for Thanksgiving.