I’m in the orchestra at our church. We’ve just begun rehearsing again after a Long Hiatus that began at Easter (Easter!). It began, in fact, the day after the day after the deck collapsed (and I’ve realized that my life and those of some others might be forever divided into the time Before and the time After the deck collapsed), and I was prevented from playing the Hallelujah Chorus in the Sunday morning Easter service because I was (and this is, really, a good excuse) in the hospital with a broken foot and a severely concussed head. I was also Bitterly Disappointed, and said as much to Bill just upon regaining consciousness, lying, as I was, on the concrete with my eyes only vaguely seeing and some metatarsals shattered.
Yes, I have missed playing my violin.
But I am playing again. This late afternoon was my second rehearsal, and it felt so good to be there on time, early even, and Ready To Play. And there was my friend tworivers, who had kindly collected my music for me, handing me the music in its smart, new blue folder, so that now I have No Excuse for failing to practice.
And there was Byron, the gentle husband of tworivers, standing before us with his sage instructions and carefully counted rhythms, and we raised our instruments and made Sound with them, and it Wasn’t That Bad.
I began playing the violin in the 5th grade, less because I wanted to than because I thought my dad would really like it (he did), and I kept playing through my senior year of high school. I was never very good; the conductor in high school moved me to the first violin section in my junior year just to be nice. And also, maybe, because I took private lessons from his wife, and maybe it made her look bad if I was So Old and still in the second violin section. So I played for seven years, from 10 – 17, and then I put the violin away in its case, and That was That. When applying to college, I told them on the application that I might play in the orchestra, and when I was a freshman a representative from the orchestra came to my room to say “What gives? Why don’t you come to rehearsal?” but I told her I didn’t want to, and that was enough.
Bill moved my violin, along with our other belongings, from home to home over the years, but didn’t believe I knew how to play it. I think, in fact, that he didn’t think there even was a violin in the case until, when I turned 32, I asked him to have it restrung for me and to get me a new bow, which he did. And then it went back into its case for two years more.
And then, last fall, tworivers said, “Let’s join the orchestra together!” and I said “No.” And this was because I am So Very Bad at playing the violin, and why in Heaven’s Name would I ask other people to listen to that? And why would I humiliate myself? And do I even know how to play anymore?
But tworivers is Exceedingly persuasive, and she might take objection to that, but it is true nonetheless. And so one afternoon I found myself at the church, violin in tow, and sat down with her at the back of the second violin section.
At that moment, I had not played my violin for 17 years. That’s right: I had played for seven years, and then the instrument had sat idle for half of my life. And then into gentle Byron’s rehearsal I waltzed without even touching my instrument because I didn’t want to hear how bad I sounded in the silence of my own house. Better, I thought to myself, that my Heinous Noise be obfuscated by the other sounds of the orchestra. Better, I thought, that someone hear my Heinous Noise and believe it to come from Someone Else, like maybe tworivers.
But this is what amazed me, still amazes me, in fact, a full year later: I remembered how to play. I remembered how to read the music. I remembered where to put my fingers and how to follow bowings as marked, and what all the little symbols meant. And I wasn’t that bad. No, I really wasn’t. At least, I didn’t see anyone snickering behind her hand; I didn’t see anyone turning in his seat to stare at the source of the Heinous Noise; I didn’t make gentle Byron put down his baton and order me Hence. He allowed me, in fact, to Stay On, and play in the orchestra, and even participate– as a violinist– in the worship services.
It was So Nice.
And it has been nice, I must say, to rediscover the pleasure of making music with an instrument other than my voice. Because despite remembering so much, playing my violin is at the same time a pretty steady act of discovery: I am reminded of rhythms and symbols I forgot I knew; I am surprised when my fingers can complete a run that looks Utterly Impossible on the page.
For awhile today we rehearsed a piece called Awesome God, an arrangement created in a fit of plain Meanness by our friend the phattedcalf. As soon as the music appeared on the stand, I knew it would be awful. This is the kind of thing, I thought to myself, that I Simply Cannot Play. I know others can do horrible, skipping kinds of runs in a key with more than one flat, but I Can’t.
And then, wouldn’t you know, the gentle Byron decided that the strings needed to rehearse a part of this All By Ourselves. I think, in fact, that it was worse. I think he went on to ask only the seconds to play it, which meant that the whole orchestra sat and listened to our pitiful efforts (with the exception of tworivers, who does not make pitiful efforts). And if it sounds awful and abusive and excrutiatingly humiliating, then let me say: It Was.
But here is the amazing thing: the piece is better now. It really is. And I don’t mean that the dear phattedcalf, whom I love despite his musical genius that occasionally appears as meanness, came in and changed the arrangement. He did not. But I got better at it. Yes, I did. Even Byron said we sounded great. And I don’t think he would say so if he didn’t mean it.
I think that– the improving part– is the Whole Point of rehearsal.
And then we went on, because Byron is gentle, and played a piece by Haydn which (dare I say it?) is Easier, and very Very Joyful. I play it badly– very Very Badly– make no mistake. But it will improve, I just know it. It makes me so happy to play it because baroque music is happy to play. And if the phattedcalf’s arrangement can improve, then surely the Haydn can, right?
