However, as is his way in life, Dad liked to teach me certain lessons in... shall we say, creative ways. I was over-extended with classes, rehearsals for the school musical, applications for college, and my way too important social life, and frequently forgot/refused to lock my violin in its locker in the band room after Orchestra rehearsals during the day. My violin, which was passed down to me and had been fine-tuned many times throughout the years, was quite valuable and expensive and my father made a point of lecturing me frequently to lock it up during the day. "But no one locks their instruments, Dad, and who is going to steal my violin in the middle of a high school during the day?" I would roll my eyes, but then promise to lock it up and continue to forget.
One day, after a particularly crazy load of classes and rehearsals, I went to pick up my violin before leaving school at 3:30pm, and it wasn't there. I could not even remember if I'd put it back in the locker, or if I'd taken it with me to my next period class after rehearsal that day. My eyes scanned the cluttered band room, landing on every instrument and not finding mine. I bolted down the hall and through the school from one classroom to the next in search of my lost violin. After about 45 minutes of racing around checking library, gymnasium, bathrooms, locker rooms, and so on, I finally went to my Dad's office out of breath and said
"Have you seen my violin?"
The look on his face when he looked up at me meant Doomsday, and I felt my heart sink. A long, tense silence and then: "...Shouldn't it be in your locker where you locked it today?" I shook my head, feeling a sense of dread like no other. "I forgot to lock it." "Then we have a problem." He told me; an understatement. He made me hunt for it again, and I embarked on my search party one last time to find my beloved instrument with no success. He barely said a word to me when I returned to his office empty-handed, and I panicked in the car to my Mom the whole drive home.
About an hour after we got home, Dad showed up with my violin. He had taken it when he noticed I had failed to lock it up like I promised for the 100th time. I was instantly furious, and he cracked a smile, but the lesson was learned and as a result I'm more than paranoid about locking my things up.
Anyway, this memory has played over in my head for at least two weeks now, as I realize I have once again lost my instrument. Over the last few weeks, due to cold and viruses, travel and maybe some stress I've overlooked, my voice is gone, making it impossible to rehearse, other than reviewing my music and listening to recordings. It isn't the first time I've lost my voice, of course, but it's the first time it has lasted this long and even trips to the doctor, allergy meds and as much rest as I can give it are not providing an end in sight.
I realize how much I long for the days when to feel like an adequate musician, I could reach for my violin, tune it, and practice. Even if I was sick with the flu or had no voice, I was able to work on the craft and see results. Of course there were other obstacles involved with violin, and in the end it was not my dream to be a violinist, but right now it is difficult not to feel more than a little held back by my own physical limitations.
What a danger it is to tie ones' career into their physical body - for athletes, dancers, models, performers of all kinds... this is the risk we take. There are risks to all career tracks, but the stress of knowing we have to PERFORM with our physical being when all we want (and need) to do is rest only adds to the infections and injuries we fight.
In the 10 years I've sung opera, I have lost my ability to sing due to allergies, acid reflux, common colds and viruses, recurring strep and tonsils infections, a resulting tonsillectomy, and now: just another virus I have to get over with fluids, ibuprofen and sleep. I stare at my calendar as the days tick by towards my next recital (May 29th), and I wonder where my instrument is and when I'll be able to use it and fine tune it again, and what kind of shape it'll be in when it gets here. It's a very dramatic way of putting it, and the logical side of me is rolling my eyes while I ingest every natural health remedy known to man and wait patiently for things to just run their course.
But nevertheless, today, and possibly tomorrow, I wish I were a violinist again. Or that my Dad could somehow hand me my voice with a smile and say "gotcha!" But I'd never trade places with High School me, and I know somehow this will all seem (almost) as funny as that incident was in no time.
