Amish Guitar

Way back in the Summer of '08, I accompanied my daughter to the high school. She was "trying out" for band. I use sarcastic quotes because it wasn't really a tryout; it was "let's get you to try several different instruments to see what you like and, oops, you can't play that one because we already have too many kids taking that instrument up and here is a contract for instrument rental that will mean spending two to four times as much dough over the course of your school career than if your parents just ponied up and bought one for you at a local music store."

But, I digress.

She tried out the French Horn, my particular instrument of choice. I was kinda hoping she'd take to it since we already owned one. She didn't like it. She tried flute, clarinet and baritone. She had her heart set on clarinet, but was told that too many kids had already taken that (WTH?) so she had to do something else. Her second choice was alto sax, which fingers quite simlarly to the clarinet (so I'm told by the salesman with honest to god slick backed hair). And she's quite taken with it. It really has been a joy to see her progress from goose honking to quite mellow, almost sultry tones over the last year and a half. I don't think she'll be moving over to the clarinet section after all.

While I was there, I asked if I could try the Horn. It had been several years (8?) since I last played, but I was eager to see if I "still had it." I didn't. My embouchure was all over the place. Horns are quite harmonic in nature and it doesn't take much to slip between notes if your control isn't very good. I couldn't find my place along the scale and just made an embarrassment of myself.

I bring this all up because recently I happened to be in the room next door while my daughter practiced the melody to Beethoven's 9th. I also happened to know where my own Horn was, having just moved everything from the storage shed and unpacked it in the furnace room of our new house. And I thought to myself, what the hell?

I got out my Horn, made sure the valves still worked, then started playing from the other room in harmony with my daughter's sax. She came running out, with the biggest smile on her face. And I had one too. I still "had it." I just needed my own Horn to find it. My ombouchure was fried about 5 mins after playing with her, and I could tell that I'd never play Carnegie, but I played, damnit.

It just felt soooooo good to do it. Both for myself, and to make music with my daughter.

Posted by Amish Guitar at 3:14 PM | 0 comments Links to this post  
Labels: daughters, French Horn

I came across a letter the other day. It was a letter I had written 20 years ago to a friend, but never sent it. Apparently my friend and I had shared sharp words. It's not unusual for me to write letters and then not send them. It is unusual for me to keep them, however. I found the letter in an old notebook I had kept from high school. And it's been bugging for a few days now.

I don't remember having a tiff with Susan in '89, but the tone of my words have really stirred something up. She had taken me to task, apparently, for not being happy. My reply was to say "what if I'm just a sad person?" This would have been 2 years before I ever knew from depression, three before I was diagnosed with depression myself.

And still the question remains, "what if I'm just a sad person?"

Granted, I'm no longer a 19 year old young man with more ideas about life than experience. Granted I have a better understanding about the causes and effects of this particular mental illness. It still a struggle, though, trying to work my way through emotions brought on by the brain chemistry and those brought on by situation.

Twenty years, or more, have gone by since I first began to ask those questions. Intellectually I know I am closer to being whole than I feel a large part of the time. I have learned to trust that the sadness I feel is not real, if only to keep it from taking me further down. Still, the struggle remains.

Depression is hard to explain to those who don't know, don't understand. Picking yourself up by your bootstraps can take you far while dealing with a depressive cycle. Sometimes, however, the straps break. Sometimes the cognitive practices you learn to get you through the cycle don't do the job. Sometimes you are simply at the mercy of overwhelming emotions.

I have nearly always experienced depression as an intense and singular sadness. Others describe angst, low energy, anger. For me, I always feel like I've just spent the last hour having a good cry...except that I haven't. And realizing now that my 19 year old self had already identified that actually gives me some hope. It's easy to feel, when I'm depressed, that nothing happened before the cycle and I can't imagine a future after the cycle is played out. Knowing that a young man was already figuring these things out 20 years ago actually gives me some encouragement to stay in the fight.

As for my friend, I'm sure we made up after that incident. We did have a spectacular fall out in college, though I seem to be the only one that remembers it. And, having taken pains to make amends, am enjoying a renewed friendship with her.

I just wonder what her answer would be, now, to the question I wanted to pose 20 years ago.

Posted by Amish Guitar at 4:14 PM | 0 comments Links to this post  
Labels: college, depression, friendship

Let's see. Bought a house, moved, settling in, ran a 5K, still on a diet, still playing guitar, still playing in the church praise team.

The new house is really a delight to play in. The great room has a cathedral ceiling in it and the sound is just fantastic. The carpet deadens it a bit, but music sound so much better there than any other room we had in the old house.

So, how have ya'll been?

Posted by Amish Guitar at 11:39 AM | 2 comments Links to this post