What Became Known as the Early Years

Today I got him. Beautiful, beautiful August. It's quite a tale, if you care to sit and listen.

So, I've been renting for a while now. Crappy howlers. They made me want to cry. Literally. I could never practice and I even sounded bad at performances. It was shameful, really.

But no more! I'm free. We walk into Hames. I'm in a bad mood. Dad's disappointed in me for being in a bad mood. We were waiting for Angie (slightly annoying saleswoman) to return from her lunch break, and dad sent me upstairs to look for a bassoon reed with written instructions from Thomas: "medium bassoon reed, they probably just have Jones, but if they have Fox, I'd prefer it."

I try my best to avoid the sales guy. Try. Tryyyy. I make a couple of two-ring calls to Thomas.I stare at the floor. Search through my purse."Can I help you?" *Spanish acscent*"Er. I'm looking for bassoon reeds."

But, the guy turns out to be nice, not creepy, etc. And actually helpful. He tried his best to find me a medium, but all they had were medium soft/medium hard. I ended up with 3 medium hards and I only needed one. It was pretty awkward. Anyways.

I go back downstairs. Still feeling stupid, still expecting to be disappointed. Angie has returned and she calls me into her office to look at this cello. A Glacel. It sucked. It was hideous. Horrible sound quality. I was devestated. All I could think was, "Noo! I'm getting another crappy howler!!!!!!!!!!!"
I was on the verge of tears. Dad looked really annoyed. The walls were closing in. In attempt to respect my personal space, Angie made up an excuse to leave the office. I pulled myself together and tried to tell Dad that this just wasn't for me. That it was just like all the other celli I'd ever had. Boring and ugly, in every sense of the latter. He tried to reason with me. Telling me that it wasn't so bad, and if it was, we'd just return it. He told me that eventually, I could sell it to some unsuspecting 6th grader for more than it's worth. That made me want to cry even more, but Angie came back in. She could see I was still distressed and offered to bring out some more celli. But I stared blankly.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................told her that'd be fine. She brought out two other celli. I wasn't expecting anything.
Except more ugliness.
I saw the green cloth case and wasn't moved. Dad walked over helped me unzip it. I pulled it out....fiddled with the bridge...observed a rather nice finish...pondered it. Angie spoke. "Oooo. That seems to have a chip. Lemme take care of that."

We pack it up again...I roll my eyes and wait. My mind wanders. An eternity passes, and then...

She brings him out. ..a kind of calm washes over me. I pull him out. He's light as a feather. I give him a pluck. He's lovely even out of tune. I give him a squeeze and say, "This is the one I want."

And the rest is history.

Happy Turkey Week.

His name is August, by they bye. ...like the Rush.