We get to the market today, and a young woman is playing her violin. A piece from Carmen - the only opera I really enjoy.
I come from a long line of musicians, but the talent stopped dead in its tracks with me. I have an appreciation for music, but the gift just isn't there. I can sit at the piano long enough for my hands to memorize notes, but I cannot make the music. MS or no MS, my hands have never been able to make that instrument sing. The true gift is in your heart and in your soul. The Boy, who happens to be a drummer, calls it Bleeding. When Jeff Buckley sings Hallelujah, he is Bleeding. When Maynard Keenan performs Wings for Marie and 10,000 days, he is Bleeding. When I recall the sound of my father playing his violin, I hear more than technique.
Because of the arthritis in his shoulders it's been years since I've heard him play, but he used to practice for hours every day. As a little girl the sound of my mother at the piano and my father at the violin used to lull me to sleep at night. After they divorced, the sound of his violin was the background music for my visits with him. Now that he is sick his arms are too weak to to feed himself let alone play the violin; it is the least of our worries.
But then I heard that woman playing Carmen. Just one violin singing in the background of a market and I was overwhelmed. It never occurred to me that the sound of a single violin would haunt me. When will I be able to hear that sound again and not be horrified?
Before we leave, I add my money to the pile in her violin case and thank her. She didn't mean to break my heart.
☯ Danse bohéme