Theme
4:19pm May 2, 2012
I should have more photos soon. This is my violin. It’ll be a hundred years old in a few years. It’s still playable although I want to see about some repairs to the tuning pegs and cleaning of the wood. I got it through my grandfather, and it took a year before my arms were long enough to play it. My grandfather made and repaired instruments and he got it through some guy he knew. It sounds good but I don’t think it’s anything special other than being really old. Better than the ones we rented when I was little though. I don’t talk about it a lot but I was really good on the violin. As in, first chair first violin in the junior high orchestra when I was seven. But then my parents had me change schools and repeat the fourth grade and the new school didn’t have music lessons. Weird considering the new school was the one with all the money. Anyway I loved this violin, and the case, and everything in the case, and the blue fuzzy stuff, and everything. In every possible sensory way. The case has two little box-like things for stuff. One has rosin, the other has spare bridges and the cute little key to the case and a letter from my grandpa explaining the history. This was probably the best thing my grandpa ever did for me, considering he was an asshole who molested me and tortured animals for fun and so forth. But this has none of ‘him’ on it somehow so it is really pleasant. The violin was the only instrument I ever was good at. Even though I’ve tried to learn five others. I don’t usually tell people how good I was because of pressure and child prodigy bullshit. But I’m not as good now. I’ve clearly got the hang of the basics. But there’s a lot to relearn. That’s the other reason I don’t tell people. Expectations and assumptions and disappointment and shit. That kept the violin firmly stowed in the back of my closet (literally) for years until I just pulled it out. But I opened it up and I love it. Even without playing. The wood smells wonderful. I love the mother-of-pearl on the bow and the smell and feel of the bow on my face. And I’ve still got my very first rosin in there. And it reminds me of how very sensory-based I was at six years old when he gave it to me. It was a couple of years after one big change in my brain but a year before another. And a year before I became… really fucked up and aggressive (from school bully PTSD) and clinically depressed, which didn’t stop till a few years ago. And a year before my first shrink. Things were very different after that. But even then everything in this case was like a friend when I didn’t have any human ones. And they still seem totally willing to be my friends after all this time of sitting in my closet. So I’m glad I found them again and glad I’m trying to relearn how to use them. I’m glad I didn’t throw them away because I have a hard time imagining forming a relationship with a new one, even if it was the best violin in the world sound-wise. I wonder if they missed being played.

I should have more photos soon. This is my violin. It’ll be a hundred years old in a few years. It’s still playable although I want to see about some repairs to the tuning pegs and cleaning of the wood. I got it through my grandfather, and it took a year before my arms were long enough to play it. My grandfather made and repaired instruments and he got it through some guy he knew. It sounds good but I don’t think it’s anything special other than being really old. Better than the ones we rented when I was little though.

I don’t talk about it a lot but I was really good on the violin. As in, first chair first violin in the junior high orchestra when I was seven. But then my parents had me change schools and repeat the fourth grade and the new school didn’t have music lessons. Weird considering the new school was the one with all the money.

Anyway I loved this violin, and the case, and everything in the case, and the blue fuzzy stuff, and everything. In every possible sensory way. The case has two little box-like things for stuff. One has rosin, the other has spare bridges and the cute little key to the case and a letter from my grandpa explaining the history. This was probably the best thing my grandpa ever did for me, considering he was an asshole who molested me and tortured animals for fun and so forth. But this has none of ‘him’ on it somehow so it is really pleasant.

The violin was the only instrument I ever was good at. Even though I’ve tried to learn five others. I don’t usually tell people how good I was because of pressure and child prodigy bullshit.

But I’m not as good now. I’ve clearly got the hang of the basics. But there’s a lot to relearn. That’s the other reason I don’t tell people. Expectations and assumptions and disappointment and shit. That kept the violin firmly stowed in the back of my closet (literally) for years until I just pulled it out.

But I opened it up and I love it. Even without playing. The wood smells wonderful. I love the mother-of-pearl on the bow and the smell and feel of the bow on my face. And I’ve still got my very first rosin in there. And it reminds me of how very sensory-based I was at six years old when he gave it to me. It was a couple of years after one big change in my brain but a year before another. And a year before I became… really fucked up and aggressive (from school bully PTSD) and clinically depressed, which didn’t stop till a few years ago. And a year before my first shrink.

Things were very different after that. But even then everything in this case was like a friend when I didn’t have any human ones. And they still seem totally willing to be my friends after all this time of sitting in my closet. So I’m glad I found them again and glad I’m trying to relearn how to use them. I’m glad I didn’t throw them away because I have a hard time imagining forming a relationship with a new one, even if it was the best violin in the world sound-wise. I wonder if they missed being played.

Notes:
  1. withasmoothroundstone posted this