Bass Lesson # 3

I had my third bass lesson last night – from my memory was forced all the memories that I had found funny about Bass Lesson # 2. So much so, that I can't write about the second lesson. I’ve had to skip to the third.

I do recall about lesson 2 that it took a little while for me to become agitated. I remember that we were locked in the office again, that our 18 year old son was outside the office door demanding to know what it was that we were doing in the office that required a locked door (are you sure you really want to know, Hunter???), and I recall Michael saying that my timing was incredibly bad and when I asked if I could play along to Polly Wally Doodle, he said I wasn’t ready for that song. A crushing blow.

Lesson # 3 started out badly for a couple reasons:
a) I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson
b) It was too soon after Lesson # 2…it had only been a couple weeks, after all
c) I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson. See point (b).

We started out with the Murphy and Marshall DVD. I was reminded again of Murphy’s enthusiasm and secretly wished I felt even a teeny bit of it. I could relate to Marshall completely – he totally looks like he wants to smack Murphy, especially after the 39th time she says “Ready Marshall?!?!?” Actually, now that I think about it, she doesn’t say that 39 times, I was just forced to watch it 39 times. No wonder I felt agitated.

The term “force” is subjective, of course. No one was holding me at gunpoint, no one was threatening to hurt me physically, emotionally, or in any other fashion. I did, however, have a vivid flashback of childhood and being “forced” to weed the bazillion acres of strawberries in my parent’s back yard in the blazing, cruel sun, without water, hat or sunscreen.

Things were going along semi-fine with me trying to emulate Marshall’s finesse on the bass, and trying to ignore Murphy’s hollering. Stupidly I thought I could sort it out just by watching Marshall’s fingers, but it didn’t take long for me to remember that I can’t tell my left hand from my right, and I certainly can’t sort out his left hand / my right hand, and his right hand / my left hand…far too complicated. In spite of all this chaos in my head, Michael unwittingly launched into a side lesson on music theory. On one of his hands…don’t ask me which one…he started with the reformed alphabet again, only more of it than the first lesson. A lot more. “For a C note (I think he said ‘note’) it goes C D E F G A B C. For a D note it goes D E F G A B C D. For a E note it goes E F G A B C D E” All I could think, once again, was “ABC The Goldfish” that dad used to play when I was little. Michael kept asking if I understood – I was reluctant to answer because either way I was in trouble. In saying “yes” I would be lying and in saying “no” he would start over. What to do!!!

After a time on the theory, I was instructed to go back to the DVD. I think the song was Bluegrass Cabin Home and it was put on repeat mode on the machine. Endlessly. As in over and over, ad infinitum. Over and over Michael said my timing was off…he’s been very kind and patient, but the truth still stings no matter how kindly it is put. I must remember that next time I am determining to tell someone the truth about themselves. Perhaps it’s better to focus on myself. Anyway, over and over and over we ran through the song. At one point I felt kind of bad for poor Marshall – his timing was completely off…he was totally out of sync with me. Michael assured me that Marshall was not the problem. The worst of it was this: even when I thought I did great with the timing, it was not so great. Even when I thought I had that stupid C note right, I didn’t. We even marked a pencil mark on the bass so that I could find the fret to do the C note and I still couldn’t find it.

Did I mention that I didn’t feel like having a bass lesson? This particular one will go down as a catastrophe. And just as a final nail in that coffin, Michael said today that all I had done was complain, for an entire hour, he said. He also pointed out that if I didn’t persevere, I wouldn’t get anywhere with it, and as a final blow, he said “Practice makes improved”. I’ve heard that somewhere before…oh yes, I’ve been saying that for years. Gotta love it when you have to eat your own words.

On a final note (pardon the pun) remember, we are not punished for our sins, we are punished by our sins.

Have a happy and blessed day…
Helen