And The Angels Wept

A couple of years ago, Rob Reiner’s movie “The Bucket List” created a buzz that became a household phrase. Baby boomers the world over now use the phrase “bucket list” to describe their list of dreams to realize. Including Charlene Anderson. In this tongue-in-cheek essay for BoomerCafé, she shares her experience tackling the first item on her bucket list: the agony and the ecstacy of learning to play the violin. She calls it, “And The Angels Wept.”

I have a 30-something brain in a 50-something body. You know what I’m talking about. And, like many of you, I have a bucket list. A list of “do-before-I-die” dreams inspired by the nagging sense that time is running out. The sands in my hourglass have shifted – more sand rests in the bottom than the top. So what did I do? I tackled the list.

Item number one: learn to play the violin. Sweet! That one should be easy. Doesn’t require airline reservations or vast sums of cash. Just order a student violin, the kind that comes in a package: violin, two bows, rosin, strings, bridge, carrying case, even an electronic tuner thrown in to sweeten the deal. Just over a hundred bucks. At least if I decide it’s not for me, I won’t lose my shirt on the deal.

Why couldn’t I learn the violin? I taught myself to play the guitar when I was 15. How hard can a violin be? They both have strings, right? I learned how to drive a standard shift– surely I can bow and make notes at the same time.

I was giddy when my violin finally arrived. I tore at the packaging, pulling the case from the cardboard rubble. I was six-years-old again, thrilling at the mystery of Christmas morning. I gasped as I opened the case and lifted the blanket off the violin. It was beautiful! A shiny, rich cherry-wood color with boxwood pegs and a black fingerboard. The bridge had been removed for shipping; the strings lay limp against the ebony background. A boxwood chin-rest and tail-piece fleshed out the bottom of the body.

I had done my research. I knew how to set it up, how to turn a mute wooden box, albeit a graceful one, into a singing marvel. I placed the bridge, tightened the strings, and tuned it to perfect pitch.

Then I unwrapped one of the bows, tightened the horse hair, and rosined it up. But gently running the bow across the strings, I was dismayed. Where was that beautiful sound I could hear in my mind?

Fine – back to the drawing board. Thank heaven for the internet!

After more hours of research, deciphering good information from bad, I developed a game plan. I ordered books on learning to play stringed instruments. I tracked down sites and YouTube videos on violin form, bowing, and left-hand work. I put my bow away, and spent a week teaching myself to play tunes ‘pizzicato,’ plucking the strings with my right hand while my left formed the notes.

My fingers ached; my muscles rebelled against the unusual positioning. I struggled to persevere despite my need for perfection. I needed a teacher, someone to watch me, to point out my mistakes – a guru to halt my bad habits before they became dangerous.

Soooo…back to the internet. I searched for local violin teachers. Once again, my investigative skills were required to cull the mildly experienced from the gems. I wanted a virtuoso. I wanted a teacher who was passionate about the violin, who had played since childhood and was in demand from performing orchestras. And the clincher – the teacher had to love working with adult students.

I found one. She is golden. Helena’s enthusiasm pushes me forward when my bow produces a sound more akin to a cat with its tail caught in the door than heavenly music. Her determination bolsters me when I’m certain I’d be more adept at breaking concrete than mastering this ancient instrument. Her praise and love for the art inspire me at every turn.

Yesterday, during our lesson, I groaned over my inability to “get it.” Helena smiled at me and said, “One day, you will play beautiful music.”

“One day,” but not today, not tomorrow. I know I’m a long way from playing beautiful music, but I see my progress.

Right now, I am working on a particularly difficult piece. My bow skips and bounces. It alternately squawks and squeals, refusing to keep its designated place. But just when I’m ready to give up in disgust, it glues itself to the strings. My body relaxes, and the ensuing notes rise clear and pure, shimmering in their perfection. The heavens open, a shaft of golden light envelopes me, and I’m certain I can hear the angels weep. Yes, I’ll keep learning, keep going…

The violin has taught me many things: the beauty in precision, the value of patience, the reward of perseverance. Most of all, it has taught me never to let go of my dreams. Easy or not, they are worth fighting for, especially as the hourglass sands run a little thin.

Tags: BoomerCafe, Charlene Anderson

Category: Baby Boomers, Charlene Anderson