F is for …Fiddle
My friend Katie from near here started an ABCs of Me posting thing last year. I’m sure the idea has been around and around the internets, but I’m just catching on (or getting in). Here’s my first post, out of ABC order because this particular item about me is very important right now. And I couldn’t think of an A to start with.
My fiddle. Last April I asked my father in law to keep his eyes open for a used fiddle, because I decided I wanted to learn to play. For some reason I thought he would be in pawn shops or something, not that there’s any instance where I can remember him being in one. But he plays the guitar and hangs out with friends who play instruments of a varying nature, so I thought a fiddle might turn up somewhere.
Father in law, who is resourceful, called in short order to tell me Cecil, one of the varying instrument friends (he plays standup bass) had just the fiddle for me. In fact, Cecil had three. He doesn’t play fiddle, never has, but somehow ended up with three of them. He sent it down to me with the instructions that I could use it as long as I learned to play it.
I took it to the music store here in town, a place dominated by men. The owner looked it over, told me it was in excellent condition- a German student violin from the 20s or 30s. I bought strings and rosin and a shoulder rest. I cleaned the case out, borrowed a bow from my Mother in law…
Now almost a year later, I’ve actually gotten the courage up to really learn to play it. I didn’t even open the case all those months. I’m teaching myself, so what I’m doing right now is making sounds that rival a good cat fight. But the cat fight is becoming more inviting.
Each day I practice four and eight note scales, and then I practice bowing the strings in a way that makes a fiddle sound, which is different from how a violinist would play.
I love my fiddle. It’s old and worn. It’s been played a lot by somebody, or lots of somebodies. And it has lots of stories to sing, I’m sure. Now I’m going to learn to make it sing mine.
