Seems little tiny details really do make a difference when playing the violin.
Like knowing where your fingers are supposed to go. A teeny bit up or down and not good. Then there's timing...you all know about my whole rhythm ridiculousness...well, I think I figured something out.
My teacher explained it to me again, for the tenth time, maybe twentieth, and I think I understand, kind of.
In my book there was a little section when I started learning eighth notes that had 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 & underneath the score. And it said I should count those out loud while playing. Well, I didn't. I had enough trouble just counting 1 2 3 4. I thought I couldn't add the &, too. And still learn the crazy-backwards-but-not-really G string. So I kept kinda counting 1 2 3 4. What difference would it make and why clutter up the simple tap, tap, tap, tap of 1 2 3 4? And, of course, I didn't ask my teacher. Though I'm sure he appreciated that there was one thing I didn't ask him to explain again. He probably assumed that though I'm slow, I was still trying to obey the basic, iron clad rules.
Now. I maybe got away with this for a bit. There were the few times he nailed me for not actually counting because he could tell by my note issues that I was a bit off. He can tell by my behavior issues that I'm a lot off, but that's another story.
Turns out, that 1, 2, 3, 4 isn't necessarily how I was supposed to be counting. I'm supposed to count the lowest denominator of notes. So if a piece has eighth, quarter and half notes, I need to count 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 because the eighth notes follow that pattern and nail number and & and the quarter notes hit on the number and play through the &. Hello!
So life lesson. Little things do matter. They add up and make the musical score that follows us through life. I don't want to screech or be three clicks forward or two clicks behind all the folks playing alongside of me. For reals.
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.