That's right, folks. It's official: I'm a fiddler.
Today was lesson number two and I played my first tune. I broke my first string. I fiddle. Yeah, you can call me Fiddle Piper.
On my way to the lesson, I pass an enormous field of sunflowers. It's absolutely the most joyful scene to oncounter in the morning and it makes you forget about all the numpties in this world.
My fiddle teacher is a peach. He's jolly and perky and chipper. his excitement for fiddle playing can only be compared to a bucket of puppies. It's hopelessly contagious.
I sang "Boil Cabbage Down" all the way home (The song I learned). I will take my fiddle in tomorrow (hopefully) to have it restrung, buy new strings, rent a new one (while they replace the bridge) and then I'm gonna hike out back, sit on a stump and practice Boilin' Cabbage Down.
No more makin' babies cry. Nosirree. I'm a fiddle player now. Babies will smile when I screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech my bow. . . .
I hope. Or I'm gonna have the shortest-lived fiddle-playin' career ever.
Peace, till next