I was never very good at it. I would forget to cut my nails, and chew them off in the lobby while I waited for my instructor to finish with the lesson before mine. I would not practice enough, although I did actually practice approximately 100 times more than I ever practiced clarinet. But I did have a good ear. I could tell immediately when I was out of tune or if my tone wasn't just right (it rarely was).
I enjoyed it. I loved it. I loved feeling the strong notes flow through me and out of me and around me.
I was at my best with Ms. Suda. She is a gifted performer and teacher, and she worked with me to not be afraid of being L O U D. I even joined her string ensemble at Monmouth College for a concert sometime before I graduated from high school. It was the one of the most nerve-racking performances I've ever done. I still have the black shirt that I bought for it- it has sparkles down the front by the buttons.
Before I went away to college, I bought a cello-- a beautiful instrument handmade by a man in Monmouth, and it came with an awesome red case. It was a big purchase, and my parents went half-in with me, because they are the type of parents to help you cultivate passions. I was going to a small college- one that didn't have a string program, but had just built a new performance hall and was looking to possibly start one up. I thought it would be perfect. I had some skill, and I wouldn't have much competition yet.
The string program was slow to start up. It started as a piano trio, which was piano, violin, cello. This was when I was at my worst. I hated practicing in the practice rooms because they weren't soundproof at all (not great for practice rooms IMO), and the instructor of the piano trio knew nothing about strings. She was an awesome pianist, but could not help me at all with fingering, bowing, tone, etc. and I felt pretty lost.
We performed once or twice, I've blocked it from memory because they were the most awful performances in my history. Just truly bad. Put me on stage naked for a play, and I'd be fucking fabulous. Put me on a stage with a cello, fully clothed, and I'm shitting bricks.
After those terrible shows, the piano trio disbanded, but the next semester something better came along-- the string quartet. We were directed by a small Japanese woman-- Ms. Fisher. She was a very talented violinist who would often count to us in Japanese when we got off tempo. "Ichi, ni, san, shi! Learn to count, girls!" I will never forget that.
The string quartet was my favorite of all the string things I did. We would meet in the chapel and play, and I loved it. I was the weakest of the performers, but I grew as a cellist during those years.
I also took private lessons from Ms. Fisher. Although she didn't play cello, she was able to use her violin skills to help me out. She even took up cello to better understand how to teach me. What a gal!
After college, I haven't had much of a reason to play. It was hard enough for me to practice in practice rooms where other students were playing and not always sounding great, so a small apartment with paper-thin walls was a fucking nightmare.
I swallowed my pride for a while, when my Uncle Wayne was sick and I wanted to make him a CD of me playing. After he died, it was even harder for me to play. Thinking about playing still makes me sad.
When my in-laws visited in July, they begged me to play, so I did. It took me a good ten minutes just to tune the thing and then I sounded like absolute crud, of course- my hands were out of practice and out of shape. But it was a nice... reintroduction. It made me want to play more, and now that I have a house and no Round Man living under me, I can feel less like an intrusive idiot when I play.
I went to see a movie tonight, and as it so often happens, I felt like I needed to do something more with my life. Working all the time and not doing life-giving things just isn't cutting it, and sometimes movies and books point that out to me. So I decided to pull the ol' girl out- Henrietta Cecelia III (that's her name, duh.) I strummed the strings with my thumb- out of tune again- and I had a small moment of sadness, thinking about Wayne. It's silly, I know, because he would want me to keep playing.
I was so excited. I just wanted to feel it again, those notes coming through me and out of me.
And then I broke a string- the first one I have ever broken. It's not surprising to me. The strings are old, and haven't been used in so long.
But god damn, I just wish I could play.
