Make A Joyful Noise

One of the things I enjoy is sitting in my living room in the mornings when the sun is up on the front side of the house. I usually bask in the sunlight for just a few moments before things get busy and my mind gets cluttered with “to do” or not to do tasks. Afterall, there is always something to do. I’m not one of those extremely neat people who has to have everything just so or I’ll go screaming mad, in fact, if things are too neat it stifles my creativity.  So, one morning a couple of months ago, while sitting in my living room, I looked over at my piano and thought maybe I’ll play for a while.  My eyes quickly diverted to my violin that sat right behind the music stand holder.  I started thinking……I wonder if I’m still able to play that thing. When I first moved to Maryland I took it to the music store to see if it could be repaired. The pegs would not stay in place, therefore, the violin wouldn’t stay tuned. They told me that there was nothing they could do to fix it – so I just let it be part of my living room décor.  Well, that morning I thought, maybe I’ll try again to get it fixed, so I googled repair shops for instruments and I came across one that wasn’t terribly far from my house.  On my way there, violin in hand, I started trying to remember the last time I even tried to play – 10 years, 20 years, 30 years then it hit me, it was maybe 40+ years ago. I started getting nervous about the whole idea. Upon arriving at the shop, I sat outside in the parking lot just trying to muster up the courage to actually go in. The good news was that it was a small shop and therefore pretty empty at that time of morning. The lady at the shop was very nice and very encouraging. She even gave me an exhaustive list of instructors that I could call for lessons if I choose to. She disappeared in the back for a minute to check with the “technician” to make sure they could help me. She returned and assured me that my violin could be fixed but what they didn’t tell me was that they thought I was crazy thinking that I could still play. The repair would take two weeks.  She asked if waiting the two weeks was ok. I laughed out loud and told her that if I waited 40 years to bring it in for repair, I could definitely wait two weeks.  Before I left I even purchased a new bow. 

I spent the next two weeks going over the fingerings in my head. I even ordered a piece of music that I absolutely love (Concerto in A Minor). I listened to it over and over thinking that surely I would be able to play at least the adagio movement (since that is the slower movement). As the days passed, my anxiety level was getting pretty high.  The day finally arrived for me to pick up my violin. I didn’t have a case for it because the one I had had fallen apart many years before. Did I mention that when I first picked up the instrument the violin shoulder rest I had brought some 40+ years ago, fell apart in my hands – oh well – just a minor setback.  I ordered a new one from Amazon, along with a new block of rosin for the new bow(1). Rosin is used to create friction which allows the bow to grip the strings and make them vibrate more clearly – I would definitely need that. Truly I was all set.  The kind lady in the music store found me a case that someone donated that was perfect for my violin. Off I went with my newly repaired violin and a perfectly functional recycled case. I even picked it up a day early because I knew that my daughter would be out for the evening leaving me the whole house to myself so I could try my hand at playing. 

No sooner than she left, I ran downstairs, took out the violin, checked the tuning, rosined up the bow, placed the new shoulder apparatus on the violin, busted out my music and slid that bow across the instrument and immediately broke out in the biggest belly laugh imaginable!!! WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!! You can’t even imagine the sound that came out. I even think I heard the dogs next door barking like crazy. I had to ask the question…how in the world did my mother put up with me learning this instrument? All I can say is that there was a lot of screeching and scratching going on. Yes, I remembered where all the notes were, but to play an actual song so that someone could recognize it – NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!!! I sat there in amazement. I can’t even consider going to a violin teacher until I, myself, can stand the sounds coming from that instrument. I started wondering whether I ever really played the violin.  Here I was bragging to myself how I made both the All-borough and All City orchestras when I was in high school and how I advanced to the “First Chair” 2nd violin status. I even got to play at the Philharmonic Hall. I guess that was me trying to convince myself that I could still play. I had to dig into my old files and pull out the programs from some of the concerts just to see if my name actually appeared there. (Proverbs 16:18 says “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall” I guess that was my reminder that I hadn’t really arrived!) I was in disbelief that that instrument I was holding could make “a joyful noise”.  Noise – yes, joyful – absolutely NOT!

REALITY CHECK!!!! I cannot play the violin.  So, if you hear me tell anyone that I play the violin, please remind me that I’m being delusional. I guess that happens when you get older; you remember things the way they WERE which is often not at all the way they ARE! The correct scenario is that I USED TO play the violin. 

The weeks since then have been quite challenging.  Just about every day I spend about 30 minutes trying to get a decent sound to come out. 30 minutes is all I can stand to listen to myself, not to mention that my neck and arm hurt so badly when I’m done that I need to rub Bengay or any such other “old people” muscle pain reliever as I wince in pain. One other thing, about that music I bought, you remember, that music that I listened to over and over thinking how I could definitely play it – yep that music; I think I’ll have to put that up for a while and stick to “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” 

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1. Rosin: the yellowish to amber, translucent, hard, brittle, fragmented resin left after distilling the oil of turpentine from the crude oleoresin of the pine used chiefly in making varnishes, varnish and paint driers, printing inks, and for rubbing on the bows of such string instruments as the violin.