My brain is all over the place on this one. At first I was going to title the post "Monday music" in recognition of the fact that The Mama's and the Papa's song Monday, Monday has been running through my head ever since watching a PBS special Monday night.
Those of you who have been visiting the blog for a while know that I'm quite deaf, so music runs through my head pretty much non-stop. There's actually a scientific explanation for that which I wrote about here http://imgoingtotexas.blogspot.com/2014/12/my-own-personal-soundtrack.html.
In any case, I've actually been somewhat relieved to have 1960s music overlay the trumpet voluntaries that NBC played incessantly through the two weeks of the Olympics. And as I thought about music generally and the music of my 1960s youth, I recalled the few short years when I played violin. That was when I learned the mnemonics FACE and "every good boy deserves favor." Sadly, I had to look up the notes of the four violin strings, which were lost somewhere in memory. GDAE ... to which my monkey mind immediately ascribed an Aussie-inspired mnemonic of "g'day." I won't soon forget that.
I must have been at least passably good at violin as I was tapped to perform in a school district-wide orchestra when I was ten. The experience of that is also lost to memory, except for the mortifying recollection of being called down to the principal's office in 5th grade. Walking down the long, dark halls was dreadful (truly, full of dread) as I wondered what terrible transgression had resulted in my being called down. If I was relieved to discover that I was being given good news, the fact of the matter is that 50 years later I only remember feeling terrible.
Likewise, we moved the following year to a new school district where I encountered the polar opposite of my beloved violin teacher. Instead of sitting to play in a small group, as I had been accustomed, I was forced to perform alone, standing through the entire lesson. Though I didn't know it at the time, my low blood pressure made me lightheaded and weak at the knees. At eleven years of age, I only knew that I was utterly miserable and begged my parents to let me stop. Which they did.
This little guy loves music, too ...
I just hope he finds much encouragement as each year slips by ...
Every good boy deserves that ...
