Generally speaking, you will find me to be the happiest of women with my personal lot. I really do enjoy being idle – it is far more fun than being a wage slave. Boredom is not an issue, my days are full to overflowing – I wish only to have more time into which I can place the ever-growing list of things that I want to do. Bedtime comes around each day long before I have achieved all that I set out to do.
Now and again I do begin to hanker for things. A whim will arrive – and my whims normally require some funding. This I no longer have. I cannot say that I suffer any dissatisfaction, maybe just a little wistfulness. And today I am indeed wistful…
What for? You might well ask! Is it that going out to eat and drink this weekend has rekindled my social leanings. Can it be that I am wishing for restaurants to eat in – for the wherewithall to dine out once more at will. Have I developed a thirst for Real Ale that once more needs slaking, perhaps.
Nothing so mundane.
Yes, it was good to drink a decent pint (or several). Yes it was wonderful to eat out and have a break from my own kitchen. I remain reserved on the subject of sociability – regular readers will know that both I and my beloved Mr L lean more towards hermit than to party animal. However, music is a different matter. Old yearnings have been reawakened.
I was not suprised to find Mr L printing off some guitar tabs last night, nor to hear his playing the guitar (and Nell’s fine sung accompaniment!)
It wasn’t the Yellowhammer that got us going in the pub yesterday afternoon, but the band. Clearly Mr L was moved to fit some practice in but I was horribly reminded that even at my great age, I still cannot play any instrument properly. Not even adequately. I had lessons as a child in both piano and violin. I am told that I showed promise on the keyboard. I do recall how thoroughly I detested going to my violin lessons, though. Violin lasted but one term. Piano continued for around three years, I think – long after the teacher declared my twin’s style to be “plonker” and she was released from the torment of practising every night. And it was a torment – not intrinsically, but because of homework and housework and other tasks that I had to undertake daily – and because my mother made me over-practise at an hour a night at that stage. It was All Too Much, and I pleaded to be allowed to give it up.
Yes. I regret that.
I regret that I cannot even claim to be able to read music properly these days. I really regret having no instrumental skill at all. I’ve two guitars, neitherof which I can play, and a penny whistle in the house. I sing when I work around the house, but badly. Otherwise, I make no music at all. That is sad.
It must be a wonderful thing, to sit down with friends and make music.
Oddly, although I hated learning the violin as an 11 year old, I have long had an adult hankering to learn to play folk fiddle. In my head there is a great distinction between the two. Sadly I know so little that I don’t even know if my mental distinction is justified. It would be such fun to be able to scrape out a jig at will, wouldn’t it?
So, is it a violin that I wish that I could buy?
No, actually, it isn’t. Although the wish to learn to play one is still there, I was strongly reminded (I have no idea why!) this weekend that I’ve had a hankering to learn to play the concertina in the past. Now I find that urge is still there.
Mama wants a squeezebox!
Why? I have no idea why it should speak to me so! I have no idea how to play one, and zeroÂ understanding of how they work but I have been Googling and have found instructions and manuals are available online. Looking on eBay, I find that a new 30 button instrument with a hard case can be had for under Â£100. At one time I would simply have indulged myself on the spot.
Sadly, this mama does not have a pay packet.
Today is one of those days when I feel a little wistful for my days of high earning independancy. I need to go look at the wild waves and remind myself of all the extremely good reasons that led me to abandoning the rat race and the pay packet and to head for the wild places and a life as a kept woman.
Perhaps when I come back, I’ll get Mr L to show me a few chords on my guitar…