Sweet melodious tones of the...

...cello.  When we were first married, James bought me a CD titled "Romantic Cello," complete with embracing couple pictured on the front in a vaguely European setting.  Anyway, it took about thirty seconds of listening to realize that there was some miscommunication between the cover art people and the playlist people.  Sure, it was cello music and, strictly speaking, "romantic," but only in the classical sense, as in "from the Romance Era of classical music."  Like, Tchaikovsky.  Beautiful sweeping melodies, dripping with emotion, grand sforzandos and crashing cymbals, tied together with delicate pianissimo trills and descants.  Beautiful stuff, but definitely not smoochy music; the suddenness of the fortissimo can be jarring when played by candle-light.  So the CD sat on the shelf for many months, and then somehow made its way into my car, silent, un-played, and waiting.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago.  James and I are taking a short road trip to Astoria and in my haste, I fail to pack any good music for the road.  We're on our way home and I come across this CD, "Romanic Cello," crammed into one of the door wells.  Well, it's better than listening to one of the other three CDs we've already grown tired of on our trip, so I pop it in.  As we're not smooching while driving, we're able to better appreciate the intent of the Romantic composers and the cellists who pay them homage.

Since that fateful voyage, the CD has not left my car CD player.  Given the fact that I drive much less than I once did, one is less inclined to wonder that I don't grow tired of the same nine songs played over and over again.  Rather the contrary - I came into a familiarity and fondness for many of the songs.  One piece in particular moved me greatly, such that I went to the local music store and bought the sheet music.  Thus has begun  the renewal of my acquaintance with my dear old friend, Stanley.

I first met Stanley when he was rather new and I was fourteen.  Through the previous three years of hard work and determination, I had earned the right to move up from my old cello, Chelsea, a top-of-the-line machine-made cello, to a hand crafted instrument of music.  Chelsea is blonde and sturdy, but Stanley is a beautiful chestnut brown with a thin, delicate neck and graceful scroll.  We bought him new from his crafter, Wayne Burak, a budding luthier and retired first chair cellist in the Ft. Worth Symphony Orchestra.

I'll admit, Stanley is no Stradivarius, but he's mine, he's beautiful, and I love him.  Because we bought him new, Wayne placed an inscription on the inside that reads, "For Kristina Martinsen," whom I am no longer, but Stanley has stayed with me nevertheless, through the years of diligent practice and shameful neglect alike.

For over the last week, Stanley and I have become reacquainted.  I've pulled out some of my old practice material as well as working through Kol Nidre, by Max Bruch, the genius that inspired my renaissance.  This piece is about on par (or perhaps ever so slightly below) with where I left off oh so many years ago.  Composed mostly in tenor clef with equal parts bass and treble thrown in for a good range of tone.  I'm developing callouses in all the old places and some new ones (namely, along my left thumb as I develop my "thumb position" callouses).  After a few days of sore bowing and weak fourth finger vibrato, my muscles have also begun to re-develop.

I find that the more I play, the more I can play, and therefore the more I want to play.  My only regret is that unlike when I was in school and would prepare for a concert or competition, I now have no goal in mind when I practice beyond my own enjoyment.  On second thought, perhaps that might not be considered a regret.  Rather, my regret is that I have no venue to share the music I am creating.  Don't get me wrong - I'm sure there are plenty of venues available for an amateur cellist yearning to share her half-baked gift with the world (the street corners of Portland come to mind), but I'll admit I'm just not that brave and/or confident.  I have touched upon a fairly simple piece that I intend to share with my church congregation (assuming it sounds more complete with the piano accompaniment), so I suppose that's a start.  I know of an adult amateur orchestra in the area; perhaps I'll seek it or something of the like out.  Let's see how far this re-awakened hobby carries me.

(On a slightly related note, my sewing machine has been in the shop for a week and will be so for another . . . we'll see what happens when I get it back and have to divide my hobby time between the audio and the visual.)

p.s. I'll post pictures of my beautiful cello later.  I'm learning thumb position and he's embarrassed to be seen with tape on his fingerboard.