Black Pegs, A Scroll, and Some Strings

8/3/2019 Black Pegs, A Scroll, and Some Strings

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Whitney Olsen

English 208- Essay 3

Daniel Berkner

December 2, 2011

Black Pegs, a Scroll, and Some Strings

Music is both an art and a science. It combines vocal or instrumental sounds to

produce beauty of form, harmony, and expression of emotion. Music is sound that

transcends the physical realm. Music moves the soul. Music is the rhythm of life. It inspires

emotion at its essence and has the power to stir feelings within you. Music is beautiful

when it stands alone, but it is breathtaking when matched with scenery, images, or words.

Music inspires movement without it, dance would not really exist.

You cannot see it, but you can feel it. Music runs deep inside everyone. We were

designed to appreciate music and love it just like we were designed to drink water.

Throughout history, whenever a people group was deprived of basic needs, music often

united them, gave them identity, and gave them hope and joy. Think of the African

American slaves. They were forced to work for their masters. They did not even own their

bodies. The slaves could call nothing in the physical realm their own. And yet, they had

music. They created music. In united harmony, the slaves would lift their voices together in

song. They made rhythm and a beat with their steps, their tools for working, and their

voices. In a dark and bleak world, music is a joy and helps people to hope.

~*~


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From the first time I saw her, she seemed like a strange woman. Perhaps it was the way

she dressed. As a woman in her late 50s, she created a spectacle of herself with her nose

ring, bright shirts, and low-rise hip jeans. Whenever she lifted her arms up, her short shirts

revealed her large brief underwear that rised up at least 5 inches above the top of her

jeans. She was a huge advocate of coffee and world peace, but she only tried to instill her

passion for one of those in me, and it wasnt coffee. She was a hippie at the core of her

being. Anne Nesse was my first music teacher.

For all of my childhood, I had wanted to play not only with toys but with music. My

parents were completely uneducated in the musical arena, however. As a home schooled

child, I had no choice but to remain in the dark. Private music lessons were too expensive

for my family to afford. That is when I met Anne Nesse.

Anne was the wife of a wealthy doctor and was a retired nurse herself. She did not

need money and had a desire to help kids learn about her greatest passion music. For

only pennies per lesson, my parents could afford to pay Anne. Anne did not have talent

compared to the average paid music teacher, but she had a huge heart. To a little 8th grader,

her performance abilities were astounding.

I can remember the time when I did not understand how to read music notation.

~*~

Sitting on a small bench in Annes kitchen with several other middle school kids, I

shrugged off my sweatshirt as the sun streaming through the window warmed me up. I

bent back over my new sheet of music with pencil in hand. Having only started music


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day long, admiring the violins craftsmanship and dreaming of the day that I would be a

world famous master violinist.

Ok class,lets try that scale one more time. Then lets play the first few measures of

our new song together.

The screeching sounds that consumed the room hurt my ears. I will never understand

how my mom was able to watch and smile throughout the entire lesson, convincing me that

she actually enjoyedlistening to our attempt to make music. Anne stood on her tiptoes and

waved her arms around excitedly as she conducted her uncoordinated ensemble. She

looked more like an interpretive dancer and less like a conductor as she swayed her hips all

around and bobbed her head.

~*~

Several students snickered nervously but most of us just stared in astonishment.

Gerard Mathes, my music theory professor at the North Idaho College, stood triumphantly

before us on top of the grand piano. As he addressed the class from his new perch, he

stared off into space, never making eye contact with anyone as usual. His lack of eye contact

was always one of the most eerie parts of his behavior.

Alright class, he said in his high-pitched, nasal voice, Tell me how to make a C major

7 chord!

As he talked, he poked his hand through the movable tiles in the ceiling and grinned

excitedly. He really looked like a crazy man with his frizzy mess of Einstein hair, his

Beethoven shirt, and the single violin earring hanging from his left ear.


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I wonder what would happen if I left class through the ceiling one day, Gerard

mumbled from his position on top of the grand piano. Maybe you all would like this class

more because it would make things more interesting.

I do not think there was any way Gerards music theory class could be anything but

interesting. One time, he literally left class at the end of the period by crawling out the

window. Sometimes, during our exams, he would bring pie and ice cream and blare the

most obnoxious country music he could find. When he saw our miserable looks, he would

laugh and say that every musician needs to learn how to work through distractions. I had

also heard rumors that once, during a final exam, he received a call from his wife that he

was needed home immediately to care for his autistic son. Instead of calling in a substitute

teacher, he rounded up all of his students into the back of his truck and drove down the

road to his house, making his students take their exams in his house while his son walked

around the house screaming and drooling. Gerards class was never uninteresting.

I was also lucky enough to have this man as my high school orchestra conductor. He

was completely serious and stern in orchestra practice. He would never accept a poor

sounding attempt at the sheet music. Sometimes, if our practice didnt meet his perfect

criteria, he would scream and yell and throw a temper tantrum. The worst, though, was

when he got so angry that he would whisper. I dont blame him for getting stressed; our

orchestra of 60 students and 15 different instruments would have been difficult for anyone

to lead.

Some of the strangest interactions I had with him were in his office at the North Idaho

College. He was the only violin instructor at NIC and so, as a music major, I had to take my

private lessons from him. In his office, he had a salon chair, complete with a full hair heater


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for perms. He also had little projects he worked on, such as ripping up the floor tiles. His

office was a disaster with papers and objects floating around everywhere. When I walked

in, there was barely any place to stand. I always had a secret fear that he would get angry at

me if I didnt practice enough, but he never got angry in person like he did for orchestra

practice. Whenever I had an assignment for the music theory class I took from him, he

asked us to turn in our papers by sliding them under his office door. When I would visit his

office for private lessons, however, I would marvel at the mess and wonder how in the

world he never lost a single paper. He might possibly be the strangest person I have ever

met.

~*~

Then, there was Mr. Wilson, my fiddle teacher. He had a fairly tame and normal

personality. He was soft spoken and encouraging. He even wore tidy clothing and had a

proper, trim haircut. Mr. Wilson was an amazing fiddle player. He knew every song by

memory. In fact, for our lessons, he would record himself playing on a cassette tape and

then write out the music tablature by hand for each song. We had no need to buy fiddle

books when we were taking lessons from him. He was the father of 3 little kids and had a

sweet wife. Sometimes he would bring his entire family over for the lessons. I thought he

was normal until he told us about his tattoo.

When he was younger, he got a life size image of a fiddle tattooed to his back. Even

with a shirt on, you could see the top of the fiddles scroll showing on the back of his neck,

just under his hairline.


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~*~

As I reclined on the couch, I tried not to disturb my broken leg. I was in the healing

process now that I had surgery, but my leg would still shoot with pain if I moved it around

much. I shifted uncomfortably as I looked back to my computer screen. Being confined to

the couch for days and knowing that I was looking forward to 2 months of crutches, I made

a hobby of checking the Internet everyday to find local guitars for sale. I had always wanted

to learn how to play guitar, but life was busy. Now I was forced to sit and be still. I suddenly

had much more time on my hands then I ever could have wanted. I could no longer run or

go to the gym. I couldnt go dancing; traveling anywhere was difficult. My priorities

instantly changed.

My good friend, Thomas, who was an expert musician, had given me a few tips on what

to look for when buying a guitar. He had attempted to take me to Spokane to check out a

Seagull guitar that looked promising. However, on the way, my car started to smoke and

the brakes locked up. We were forced to return to Moscow.

Now, I was still looking at Seagull guitars. However, nothing came up on the Internet

that seemed like a screamin deal compared to the guitar in Spokane that I set my heart on.

I just needed to find a way to get there. If only my leg wasnt broken and I could drive myself.

Dad walked in the room.

How are you feeling today, Whitney? Dad asked.

I feel a little better. I hate that I have to sit here in one spot though.


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Youll be up and running again in no time, Dad said. Dont worry, the time will pass

faster than you know.

Hey Dad, would you be willing to drive me to Spokane tonight? There is a guitar for

sale there that I am really interested in buying. I think it would help me pass the time.

Yup, I can do that for you.

~*~

I gazed at the guitar. I smelled its cedar wood and delighted in its design. It was

beautiful.And it is all mine.

The tips of my fingers were sore from playing the simple chords I learned from the

Internet. Guitar strings are much more rough on your fingers than the violin strings I was

used to. My whole family had gathered around to watch me attempt to teach myself how to

play this new instrument. I had no teacher, but I figured that with the help of a few books

and Internet, I could teach myself how to play anything. After all, I was confined to the

couch for 2 months what else was I going to do with my time?

My family and I laughed and laughed at my beginners playing abilities. If I played

slow enough, I could play and sing the chorus to a Taylor Swift song. I loved being able to

lead others in song. It was something that not everyone could do.

~*~


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I can remember the time when my fascination in music took a new turn. I sat on the

floor in Justins living room. It was a typical Thursday night. Usually, a group of 20 or 30 of

us college students would gather at his apartment to play games and socialize on

Thursdays. In such a small apartment, though, the noise volume usually got pretty loud. My

head was starting to hurt so I walked over to the kitchen to escape. Justins roommate,

Andrew Lierman also happened to be in the kitchen. He was trying to escape the noise

himself.

Andrew, do you happen to have any ibuprofen I could use for my headache? I asked.

Yes, I do. Hang on a moment. I will go get you some, Andrew said.

I watched as his tall figure slipped out of the room. He was quieter than most, but he

was always so nice whenever I talked to him. Why hadnt I noticed him before?

Andrew came back into the kitchen with the pills. I thankfully swallowed them with a

glass of water and closed my eyes, waiting for the medicine to kick in and clear my head.

I sat on the floor with my eyes closed. I heard something and glanced over at Andrew.

He had just returned to the room with his guitar and sat on the floor next to me.

It is so loud out there that I cant even hear myself playing, he said.

My eyes popped open as he started to play. First he played a few instrumental songs.

Then, he started to sing and play some old Johnny Cash songs. I couldnt stop staring as I

heard his deep, rich voice for the first time. He had such talent. How could I have not

known?

Then he started to play songs about love. I started to tingle inside. Could he possibly

be playing these songs for me? I giggled and then blushed in embarrassment as he started

to play You Are My Sunshine. Who was this man? Why hadnt I really noticed him before?


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~*~

Sitting on the piano bench next to my boyfriend, Andrew, I admired his skill. He had

one of the sharpest minds of anyone I knew. He could play almost any piano song from

memory that he had learned 10 years earlier. He was the same way with guitar and

mandolin and ukulele. He was a natural.

I sat in silence, fascinated by the speed and ease in which his fingers danced across

the little white and black piano keys. As he played, his mom and 2 of his sisters wandered

into the living room to watch.

Andrew, your mind is a steel trap, his mom said in amazement, shaking her head in

disbelief. You havent taken lessons since you were in 8thgrade, and you dont seem to

have forgotten anything.

He smiled as he started to play an old hymn. Just then, his mom and sisters began to

sing along in three-part harmony. It was beautiful. My heart felt light and alive as I listened

to them make music together as a family. I wanted desperately to join in, but I did not know

how to sing harmony.

When Andrew finished playing, his mom and sisters left the room, laughing about

something they saw out the window. Andrew sat back and locked eyes with me. I admired

him so much and wished that I could share more in his musical talent. I certainly did not

have the natural talent that he did, but I could learn if I worked hard.

Andrew, will you teach me how to play piano when we get back to school?


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Of course. I would love to teach you, Whitney, Andrew said. His smile was enough

to make me melt. He hugged me tight and I sighed contentedly.

~*~

Music. I can see now how much it has shaped my life into who I have become. For

some reason, I was born with an intense desire to know and understand music. I may not

have any natural talent to produce it myself, but I am still drawn to it just the same. In my

quest to find music, I discovered much more. Practicing music takes self-discipline and

hard work. Often it fun, but sometimes it takes pure diligence to pick up your instrument

and continue to practice. In the end, though, the reward is always worth the work. In

orchestra, I learned how to work on a team. I learned how to put the groups interests

above my own because, after all, the orchestra only sounds as good as its worst player.

Therefore, I was motivated to work my very hardest to be my best.

My fascination in music led me to dance. I took dance lessons all the way through

high school and college, starting with ballet and working my way up to the waltz, tango,

and swing. For as long as I can remember, whenever I would hear a song with a good

rhythm, I began to move. I would tap my foot or rock my body. Itseemed that if I didnt

move, I would explode. The music made me alive. It flowed in and through me and needed

some form of outlet that is why I dance.

I cant help but sing and whistle wherever I go. On backpacking trips, as we walk

single file up and down the trail, I sing. At work, as I dump off dishes at the dish pit, I sing.

As I do homework assignments for school, I hum. When I walk down the street, I whistle.


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When I go for a run, I listen to my iPod. When I wake up each morning, I have a new song

instantly stuck in my head. From where it came from, I have no idea. I practice the violin,

guitar, and piano whenever I can. Making music is a special connection that I share with my

boyfriend and some other friends. In church, I try to sing harmony, but I am still learning.

Someday, I hope to play the cello.

I sing and dance and play because music is part of me.

Black Pegs, A Scroll, and Some Strings

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