fiddling

I just completed my first semester of fiddle class. Well, I missed one of the classes, since some overnight friends were here, but I cleared that with the teacher beforehand. This is a big deal. I'm notorious for bolting when the going gets tough. (When it's something just for me, that is. I go the distance for friends, every time.) The teacher is blind, and judging from his comments after all 19 of us students play a piece together, he's also quite deaf. But he's patient, and kind, and funny. And he's offering to continue the class, though not through the local community college.

Did I ever practice? Well, yes, once or twice. Did I dread class night? Usually, but once I got there I had a good time. Do I suck at playing the fiddle? Here's the funny thing: not really. Oh, I'm not good by any estimation, but it's coming a lot more easily to me than I'd ever imagined.

For most of the semester, I was pretty certain that I wouldn't continue. I wasn't practicing, after all, so what's the point? And yet, from the teacher's comments, this has been an extraordinary class. Not a single person dropped out. By the 7th week, he told us, he's usually down to just a quarter of the original students.

The woman who sat next to me said something interesting to me two weeks ago. "I've wanted to play this my whole life. Why would I quit now?" Then my neighbor, who has studied with Cliff for 2 years, told me that she never practices, but that Monday night (her class night) is indeed her music night. She's a busy attorney, and that's the time she gets. She made no apologies about it.

So guess what? I've wanted to play the violin my whole life, and Cliff will be happy to take my money whether I practice or not. And it's just ten nights out of the rest of my life. What the hell? I might learn something. Funny thing: the entire class signed up, too.

No worries. You'll never see me on stage. Ever. But I have the utmost confidence that eventually I'll be able to play without embarrassing myself. And since I'm getting to be "of a certain age", I give less and less of a crap about embarrassing myself anyway.

Next week: better strings, new tuners. Am I getting serious? Who can say? But I'll be in the orchestra room at the Blue Heron Middle School next semester. Perhaps that's not for nothing.