So much to learn, so little time

Wow. I had my first cello lesson last Friday. An hour later, I hadn't played a note. Well, okay, maybe one or two. AND I am not allowed to draw the bow the full length. I have to stop midway. To you experienced cellists, you understand. But I am an immediate gratification type person and I can't wait to sound like Yo Yo Ma.

I had thought my limited experience as a child playing the viola in the San Francisco public school orchestra (in the 1960's, no less) would have prepared me somewhat for playing the cello. I scheduled my first lesson and arranged to rent a cello. When I went to pick up my beautiful cello, I was surprised to learn that the cases now have wheels on them for easier traveling! I grabbed the top handle of the case and as I pulled it toward me the entire case slid out from my grip and landed on the floor with a very loud and scary THUD. Aaaaaarrrghhh. The nice man behind the counter opened the case to survey the damage and sure enough, the finger board had come off. I had to wait another day to take my baby home.


The next day, I brought the cello home and pulled it out to admire it. It's really just a big 'ol viola that you don't have to hold up in that awkward position I never got right. Did I mention I NEVER had a private lesson on the viola? What I learned, I gleaned from the overworked and seriously underpaid public school orchestra teacher (who also had to teach every other instrument in the orchestra in the 50 minute class period). Now that I think about it, it's pretty amazing that I learned anything at all.
But NOW, I am an adult and I can afford (barely) private lessons. And I own a viola, but that was the instrument my mother chose for me. Her reasoning was that the violin and cello were such popular instruments that just by choosing the viola, I was pretty much guaranteed a spot in any orchestra. She thought my brother should learn the oboe for the same reason. Job security. Except, we all know, musicians make diddly squat.
I WANTED to play the cello. And so, my parents, who swore they would never repeat the mistakes of THEIR parents (my father was a wanna be musician who had serious artistic talent so was instead steered away from music lessons which went, instead, to his brother), unknowingly did.
So, here I am. Fifty-four years old and I thought,what am I waiting for? The only thing that stopped me from even trying the cello was an old tape that ran in my brain about being a "dilettante", but that's a blog for another day.