Aoide and I.
I love my cello with a passion I usually only reserve for other human beings. She was a gift from my parents five years ago (I'd been playing on various lower-quality instruments, for about....eight years or so?) and just perfect, and beautiful, and when I got her I named her Aoide, after the Greek muse of song, because it seemed so right. [I originally typed that as Greek muse of snog, and that's one of the more interesting typos I've ever made in my life.]
I have a tiny little room in my apartment where I usually play, this sort of turreted sunroom that's full of windows, where sunlight just floods in and you can't see so much of the urban jungle. The floors are hardwood and there's a tiny bench in there and it's small and cozy and just gorgeous. I have a tiny altar set up against the wall, and it's so soothing to me. I lose myself playing for hours.
So, I talk to Aoide. Occasionally. ....people talk to their instruments sometimes, right? Yes? I hope. I don't say much, just a few random things. Sometimes out of a need for comfort: "Okay, Aoide, time to help me let go for a little while" and sometimes out of despair "Aoide, why do you sound so amazingly awful today?" and sometimes out of happiness, "Aoide, you are beautiful, and I am so glad you're mine." ...it never occurred to me to think anything of it, as it's a habit my friends all find amusing.
Today I went outside, and my new neighbor greeted me. He lives next door, and it had escaped my memory that the wall between my little sunroom and his bedroom is somewhat thin. We've mostly only exchanged quiet nods in the hall, but today as we made Christmas small talk and wished each other a good upcoming year, he suddenly blurted out: "Y'know - if you want to - you and your, your girlfriend are welcome to come to dinner aNew Year's Eve."
I said, "Girlfriend?"
He blushed bright red, lowered his head, and mumbled, "It's hard not to hear you talk to her and I know you play that cello for her a lot, but I mean, since I lived here I'd never seen here and....and I thought she might want to get out of there."
I was seized with a fit of the giggles before I could explain - no, not a girlfriend, I just like to talk to my cello - and he blushed even further, stammered, wished me a good day, and took off down the hall. I'm still laughing about it.
It's nice to know I still wield the ability to completely freak out the neighbors.
I have a tiny little room in my apartment where I usually play, this sort of turreted sunroom that's full of windows, where sunlight just floods in and you can't see so much of the urban jungle. The floors are hardwood and there's a tiny bench in there and it's small and cozy and just gorgeous. I have a tiny altar set up against the wall, and it's so soothing to me. I lose myself playing for hours.
So, I talk to Aoide. Occasionally. ....people talk to their instruments sometimes, right? Yes? I hope. I don't say much, just a few random things. Sometimes out of a need for comfort: "Okay, Aoide, time to help me let go for a little while" and sometimes out of despair "Aoide, why do you sound so amazingly awful today?" and sometimes out of happiness, "Aoide, you are beautiful, and I am so glad you're mine." ...it never occurred to me to think anything of it, as it's a habit my friends all find amusing.
Today I went outside, and my new neighbor greeted me. He lives next door, and it had escaped my memory that the wall between my little sunroom and his bedroom is somewhat thin. We've mostly only exchanged quiet nods in the hall, but today as we made Christmas small talk and wished each other a good upcoming year, he suddenly blurted out: "Y'know - if you want to - you and your, your girlfriend are welcome to come to dinner aNew Year's Eve."
I said, "Girlfriend?"
He blushed bright red, lowered his head, and mumbled, "It's hard not to hear you talk to her and I know you play that cello for her a lot, but I mean, since I lived here I'd never seen here and....and I thought she might want to get out of there."
I was seized with a fit of the giggles before I could explain - no, not a girlfriend, I just like to talk to my cello - and he blushed even further, stammered, wished me a good day, and took off down the hall. I'm still laughing about it.
It's nice to know I still wield the ability to completely freak out the neighbors.