Little Cello Girl

They arrive by car, mother and daughter, I open the garage door of the studio complex and let them in. The cello is still asleep and lies as a lazy dog in the back. (Mostly females consider their instruments to act like pets, their pets like children.) I am aware of our physical similarities, brown hair, brown eyed, the mother slightly over my age, the kid could have mine, etc.

We study the Vivaldi double concerto together. I tell them the anecdote about me playing the piece for the first time, slightly older than my little cello girl (12), in love with the boy who brought the music to the summer camp for young musicians, the camp leaders only commenting on my painted fingernails (red.)

Maybe this is the best part of my life, being the cello teacher, in the intimacy of the studio, the ceremonial aspects of the whole thing, making the tea, tuning the instruments. Beforehand I prepared the class by writing a brief note on technique, just something small and easy to remember, something useful in the context of all pieces my little cello girl is playing at the moment.

It is all about being lazy.