My honey’s a musician, a gift inherited from a self-taught organ-violin-guitar-accordion playing father. My music teacher in college accused me of being tone-deaf and requested I not sing. My honey says, “thankfully I don’t have to hear your voice very often.” On occasion the mood strikes and I try to sing, mostly very old advertising jingles. My honey’s beautiful voice drowns my ‘cat clawing a lady’s eyes out squeak.
I have longed to play the violin and my honey finally agreed to listen, coach and teach me to play. For Sunday afternoon pleasure I received a request. “Play me a song.”
Fair enough. I’d learned all the notes, learned proper finger (I love music lexicon!) and relied on the already mastered skill of reading sheet music. With thirty minutes practice I managed a passable ‘Frere Jacques’. I have a future of many hours of practice before we will harmonize, as long as I don’t sing we are in accord.
THE END
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