tavie.com

My parents just got back from their European cruise and my mom gave me, among many other good things, a pickle in a can from Germany. It's a very good pickle, but there is pickle juice on my keyboard now.

Today I forgot to take my Gleemonex, so it was a bit of a dizzy day. But then it was okay. I had music class and Latin class. These are both classes that remind me of my Wasted Childhood Potential.

For example, today in music I was all happy because my professor started talking about The Red Violin, which is a great movie. But then the took out her own violin and started demonstrating it for us or whatever. I was pretty tuned out the whole class, because we were just learning more music notation and I already know how to read music. But the violin depressed me.

Violins always depress me a little bit. It's because I took violin lessons from age 4 until age 9, when I finally quit because I didn't like it much. I think perhaps I had a lot less aptitude at it than I had been led to believe... after five years they still hadn't moved me up to vibrato. In fact I was just learning vibrato when I quit.

Now that I think about it, I think the main reason I took violin (and piano) those years is because Adam (Andrew's brother and my contemporary) was also forced to take lessons (as well as theory and ensemble, both of us, every Wednesday for five years at Sunset Park School of Music). I think our mothers were engaged in some sort of tacit rivalry. We did all the same recitals. We were forced to practice daily. Supposedly, Adam was "better at piano" and I was "better at violin". Because one kid always has to be "better". Yeah, it was a total rivalry thing. And then when we were 9, Adam and Andrew moved away. So I guess there was no reason to force me to take lessons anymore, so I stopped.

But for years, besides having to practice and spend hours after school every Wednesday inside while the other kids played outside, I also got to dress up in pretty dresses, and play in front of people, and have people applaud, and get roses and be taken out for ice cream and generally be made to feel very special for playing these instruments.

So now, as an adult, having basically forgotten how torturous it was to practice-actice-actice, of course I am wistful and nostalgiac and depressed whenever I remember this "wasted potential" of mine. My violin, old Sigerson (that was my "grown-up violin", named by mom; I got to name my first violin, and I chose "Lisa", imaginative child that I was), rots bridgeless and stringless (and missing a peg) in a corner. Poor old Sigerson.

This music class is turning out to be more trouble than it's worth.

But really, today was a pretty positive day so I'm feeling good.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:07 PM | shower me with attention