The Cello and the Garden Part 2

Taking piano lessons as a five year old

expanded my world.

The block and a half walk by myself, for starters.

This was back when small towns were just big families

and evil hadn't been invented yet.

Myrtle and Marie Johnson's house wasn't spectacular

and I never saw every room.

But the music room where the piano stood

is seared on my memory.

A threadbare oriental rug covered most of

the hardwood floor.

The upright piano stood against one wall,

and opposite that was a tattered old couch,


comfy and worn.

When I turned to my right as I sat at the piano,

a tall window lead my gaze to the outside.

A small white outbuilding which was probably the garage,

became the backdrop for the most splendid garden.

It seemed to take up the entire back yard.

My mom planted a smattering* of  annuals next to our house,

but this was a whole world of  flowers!

I can see Myrtle sitting down to play on a summer's morning

as Marie works in the garden beyond.

No scary music this time, just a lovely 

sonata by Mozart or Beethoven.

And then, as a reward for their efforts,


a cold glass of lemonade. 

"What about that cello?", you ask.


Getting to that.

If the choice had been mine, I would have picked


the cello to learn to play.


Don't get me wrong.  I love the piano.  I know for a fact


that my love of gardening I owe partly to Myrtle Johnson.



But the throaty mellow sound of the cello


tugs at my heart's strings (pun, sorry, I had to)

I simply ADORE Yo Yo Ma


and the exquisiteness he coaxes from his instrument.

Plus, I  would get to wear cute shoes...



Au Revoir,

Mary

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*smat·ter·ing  

/ˈsmatəriNG/

Noun A slight superficial knowledge of a language or subject: "a smattering of Spanish". A small amount of something.