I am listening to Beetoven's Symphony No. 9. It is the cd that my Dad is on, it won a grammy. You are welcome to stop reading this blog now in order to go put in your own copy of that music to play along.

I'll wait.


When I was a little girl, when I was in the womb, my parents were producing music. You know how you see those commercials of a woman playing music to her baby belly with the headphones wrapped around her and oh aint that cute, she'll have a smart baby because she is playing it Mozart? My parents didn't need headphones for me to listen to music. They made music. You are guaranteed that I my Mom's baby belly was rocked by some of the racket my Dad makes with his voice. He still does that today. He'll be in the kitchen reading the newspaper and something will trigger a song in his head and bursts into full vocal operatic baritone beauty. (And it always sounds good in the kitdhen, good acoustics) That is the way my family is. We sing a Christmas blessing before Christmas dinner. If the Pettits are with us, we sing in four part harmony. I think I have been going to choir practice since before I was born. I know the entire soprano part to the Halleluia Chorus and I have never read the score. My friend Matt Durden, he knew he bass part. He actually reads the score now though. My bet is that he went to choir practice last night. My parents sang, played instruments, led choirs. I had music not just in my played into my Mama's belly, it was in my blood, it was in my ambiotic fluid. It helped give me life.

My brother, kind man that he is, took me as his date to the symphony. The Atlanta Symphony. He didn't know where it was. That's funny because I have gone to the symphony so much, I can't not know where it is. It is next to the house that belongs to an elderly woman, who wouldn't sell her land to AT & T so they built a skyscraper less than 50 feet from her back door. It is still there. On the other side of the symphony, there is the HIGH. When I was in elementary school we used to take field trips there and all the kids would ooo and ahhh. I loved to look up. It seemed as though the ceilings were as far away as the sky.

When I walked into Symphony Hall with my kind brother, I felt like I was missing a huge part of me. I felt like I had walked into my home. That is silly to say because I am not a season ticket holder of the symphony. It is not something that my parents raised me back stage. I am not that dramatic. I don't think it was the place that made me feel that way. I think it was knowing that there were musicians there. Music was there.

At some point in the fantastic evening of the Berlioz Requiem (which who writes a death march that is overwhelmingly fabulous?), my brother asked me what I was doing musically lately. Nothing. I'm doing nothing. I listen in my car. I sing to worship at church and everyone wants me in the choir. I am doing nothing.

I took piano from the time I was eight until I was twenty-one. I played Chopin nocturnes. I took violin from the time I was three until I was eighteen and then again at 21 for a life saving one hour credit that allowed me to graduate college. I sang in youth choirs. I sang solos at church even though I wasn't that great.

What are you doing with music?

I have been disturbed ever since. At one point my husband was going to buy me a piano and then, he didn't. I wish he had. I wish we had the money now to buy one.

What I do have is an instrument that is pitiful at best. I do have my violin. It is a student model. It does not make a great noise, but then again, I probably couldn't make a great noise on it either.

I love this part in the symphony. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up. It is best heard at a loud volume. It will blow your hair back.

I pulled out my violin tonight, just to see. I figured if I tuned it, the strings would break. They did. The hair on the bow fell off. Not all of it, but a significant amount. There was no rosin in the case. Turns out it was on the floor next to the case. The bridge had to be reset. I dusted it. My mechanical tuner had a dead battery. I couldn't open the case to see what kind it needed. John got it open and it needs a 9V.

I am thinking, I am in school right now. There are violin teachers at the school. I am not really going for music. I am going to be a CPA. Same language, different dialect.

So what am I doing with music? I am thinking about it. I am listening to it. Maybe, just maybe tomorrow, when I get new strings, I will play it.