Old and New Friends

If you want to see a pregnant woman cry (not hard to do these days), ask me the story of how my violin was damaged, or should I say injured, at a church function late last year. I am almost entirely certain the whole thing was my fault, however the incident taught me one lesson I will never forget: I should protect my instrument with the same mother bear instinct I generate for my own children. Unfortunately for that violin, a fly by night out of state move for the Barlows did not leave enough time to repair and transport it, and now it sits lonely and broken in my parents' library. The fateful day upon first noticing my tragic injury, my family gently tried to console me by telling me a violin upgrade was long overdue, unfortunately this only brought more tears. You can't really replace a friend/child of this nature. We are blood relatives now. We have a history that spans over half my lifetime.
So the whole thing has sat on hold in favor of a house hunt, an ongoing attempt at potty training, and the 65-day vomiting spree (but who's counting, Singleton?) this pregnancy has brought. But when my mom came out last month, she gently suggested we at least go look. I was so excited about the prospect of picking up a violin I couldn't turn her down. Due to my usually being too little, I had never picked a new violin before, and though I had been warned, was not thoroughly prepared for what the day would bring. I was amazed at how my one concerto could change so dramatically when played down a line of different violins. Each instrument told a different story, some bright, some rich, some brave, some melancholy. After narrowing it down to five, we still sat for over two hours in a little back room of the store. It may sound silly, but the first time I played the one I chose, I literally felt it resonate in my chest. It was the first time I made the connection that this instrument is played so close to one's anatomical heart that a musician can't help but put all of theirs into it. I have love being able to play again. I loved bringing the instrument home for my girls to hear. As expected, their first request was "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer," a bedtime favorite and ritual since Christmas 2007.
My mom also brought for me the tiny 1/10 sized violin my sister and I learned to play on. It only needed a new bridge and a little tweaking and it was as good as new. It still has the tape on the fingerboard and bow, ready for my next students. I can't believe how many memories this tiny instrument holds. I can't believe how excited I am to teach my girls how to play on the very instrument I learned on. I love that they are so eager and excited to learn, and can recognize a violin anywhere they see it, even on toy blocks. In time things will settle down; it feels good to be here for what is considered the longest term location plan in six years. I love the thought of teaching at last.
As for my old violin, I will get it fixed and, as expected, keep it stowed away for church functions.


In all her glory.


Mother and daughter.


Twenty-three years old.