A conversation I (probably) wasn't meant to hear

It's Friday night, between 7 and 9 p.m. -- and there is actually live music playing downstairs -- while I am up in my loft, working up a callous (or perhaps just increasing nerve damage, can't tell yet) on my left index finger by practicing my cello.

My routine is the same every time I practice. Open strings for four counts, then two counts, to warm up and try to get my bow position right. Then move on to a little fingering (how I love the double-entendres and pithy comments that could be made about some of this stuff). Mainly I do this by practicing my scales -- D Major, G Major and D Major Broken Thirds. Then, I move on to practicing actual songs.

Now, Friday night was a little special, because in the afternoon, I got an e-mail from a friend who asked if I would be giving a cello recital at a little party I'm throwing next Saturday. I replied, There may be two competing factors at play here: First, to persuade me to play in front of a large group of people at this point, I might need to be intoxicated; to play decently, I can't be intoxicated. So chances are, if I play, it won't be as good as I'm actually able. ... But then, maybe I should spend several evenings in the coming week getting a little intoxicated and then practicing my cello, and see what happens.

Denise suggested that I keep in mind the likelihood that my audience will also be intoxicated and therefore a little easier to please. (Apparently, she's never seen ugly drunks booing their entertainment, an experience with which I am rather familiar, having spent many many nights in the French Quarter, some of them in the company of male female impersonators, which is *not* the same thing as a drag queen, mind you.)

But I digress.

So Friday night, I ordered some Thai food from the place downstairs -- partly to check on the musical competition (ha!) and partly because the owner, a guy named Chin, keeps asking me when I will try something from his place (something *other than* the Pad Thai, which was not good). I ate my Thai food -- the fish special with curry and chili, which was excellent and had just the right amount of heat -- and consumed a few glasses of wine and then I set about seeing if I can, in fact, play while a bit intoxicated.

It was actually a decent practice session, but I did experience a few technical difficulties transitioning from a quarter note of B on the A string to a quarter note of G on the D string, with a half note of open A in between. Man, for little novice me, that's rough shit right there. Even when I'm sober.

But then, that transition was part of a rather complicated "concert song" that has a lovely little melody. And my "Ode to Joy" ain't bad these days, even if I do hit a screecher on the open A every once in a while. So to this point, my playing was varied and, well, it's the cello. If it's not making an ugly sound, it's a pretty one, and I was hitting a lot of pretty notes, although no one is going to mistake me for a pro.

(Funny aside: My neighbor caught me coming home yesterday from my lesson, and he asked, "Do you play in the symphony?" To which I replied, These units *are* well-insulated, aren't they?)

Anyway, I was practicing right along when I took a break to check the tune of my strings, and I overheard the following (and I'm *not* making this up):

Man (who is sitting at an outdoor dining table): You mean that's an *adult* playing that?
Chin: Yeah, lady live upstairs there.
Man: A *woman* is playing that?
Chin: Yeah, she live alone. Have only little dog and nobody else. Play dat every day. She say it cello.
Man: You think she could practice some other time than when people are eating.
Chin: Well, she live here. And people eating here all day. What can you do? She learn someting new. She get better. You want sit inside?
Man: No, that's OK. It's fine.

I had several thoughts go through my head. I'll let you imagine all of them. Why should I take away the joy of your projections?

I resumed my practicing. And for that man's listening pleasure, I practiced "When the Saints Go Marching In" about 10 times, having only learned it that morning and finding it a bit difficult to hold those long 5-count notes. Then, for variety's sake, I gave him a few rounds of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" before putting my cello away for the evening.

Hhmmph.

Some day, I'm going to overhear a *completely different* conversation about my cello playing. I just know it. Some day, I'm gonna hear, "Bravo! Bravo!"

And then I'll return to Tara! I'll find a way....