Monday, Monday, Just Like the Song

Good Morning Friends,

I seem to use a lot of references in my blogs to songs and music. Here's the thing, I was a lucky child, growing up all around music. A father who sang "Sweet Baby James" on his guitar, an uncle who rocked out beautiful blues mantras on the key boards, and my mom's perfect posture at the grand piano, Pachelbel's canons bursting through the living room. All this music soaring through the house as my brothers and I ran around playing Pirates and Indians, and dancing every-so-often to the beats of the illustrious rhythms. 

So one would think that my brothers and I were blessed with musical talent. Well, my older brother plays the guitar. Mostly he's into the mandolin and the dobro as his days are filled with country music, living in Nashville and writing about cowboys and rock stars at American Songwriter. As for the other brother, it was the drums. He had this whole drum set, maybe 12-piece set, and could play for hours. I was always jealous of the hand twirl. Now, that leaves me. And I could not figure it out. I tried piano when I was little, and I hated dressing up for the ceremonies. I also took from this old lady in the neighborhood and her house reeked of moth balls and bananas. I always road my bicycle and she had the steepest driveway ever. I had to dismount and walk it down and then the hike back up was so dreadful. So that was it for piano. I had rather run around with friends and get in trouble (mind you I was only eight so there wasn't too much trouble to get into), but anything was better than old Mrs. Georgias'.

So that was it for my musical career until college. I picked up the guitar. I even bought one with my own money and sat around the house letting my fingers swell up and harden. I thought I was pretty good until a friend came over and blew my ambitions in the water. She said she'd been playing for six years and she finally was considered pretty good. I was determined, but not that determined. The guitar still lay around the house, guests picking it up now and then and playing a few chords, but that was the most life it got. I eventually gave it to the drums playing brother who decided one instrument wasn't enough.

Here I am, almost twenty-five, and I'm still waiting for my musical gift. Maybe it will be the violin or the cello. I think I gotta get out of these mainstream instruments and explore deeper. It's in my blood, and I'm not giving up. So here's something for those also looking for something passionate like music...

"After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."

-Aldous Huxley