I am in love.

Last night I fell in love. We met in a neighbourhood yard, next to the apple tree, where Mike and I went to photograph my brother’s band (Town and Country) for promotional purposes. The moment I saw it I thought “what a cutie pie”–then volunteered to hold it so it wouldn’t get wet or dirty in the grass. It settled into my lap naturally, and when I wrapped my hand around its skinny neck it felt like it was meant to be. We were a perfect fit.
It is a *banjo*–a special, old (like 90 years old) teeny little plunky modest anachronistic four-string.
I don’t play any instruments–was forced to take piano lessons as a child and hated the idea of learning an instrument ever since. I did spend a few years banging away on a drum kit in various band/jam scenarios, and loved the non-verbal communication and on-the-fly creation that can happen. But that was years ago.
Holding this little banjo, I conjured up a sad tune, vaguely familiar–something to do with German opera and mermaids, maybe. I plunked it out on the strings, and a feeling washed over me, a feeling that normal women probably have when they hold a baby…and I thought, “I have to have this!”. I further thought, “I will hold it and care for it and play with it and learn on it and become a musician! My whole life will be transformed”. Then reality interrupted my reverie in the form of the owner of the banjo, Jesse. Man, that guy is mean. He said I couldn’t have it.
He got it for a very reasonable price on ebay, around 250 dollars. He said it was made in the ’20’s and the skin was probably original. Amazing! I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
This infatuation is made all the stranger to me by the loathing I have had for banjos, and banjo music in the past. When I was a teenager still living at home and trying to sleep off my party on the weekend, my dad was crazy for bluegrass banjo and would start plunking out Cripple Creek at 8 am. His banjos (he had 2 or 3) were approximately seventy-five times louder than my little gem. It was pure torture. Nowadays, since he has moved on to other passions (such as growing bamboo–it’s much quieter), I feel mostly nostalgic fondness when I hear bluegrass music. I still can’t say I like it though. But there are other types of music to be played on a willing banjo, such as German opera. I’m definitely going to look into whether or not he still has one of those instruments in the basement, because I’ve got to get started.

I am in love.