This weekend, I picked up, and plugged in my bass guitar. Felt good to have the weight of a Fender in my hands again. I ran through a little riff that was dancing through my brain and practiced it until I felt comfortable moving my fingers on the frets. Was it brilliant? Heck, no. But it gave me immediate gratification to hear the sound and recognize the bass line. I'll never play in a band or be considered a … true bass player, but I love the instant feeling of accomplishment.
Once I turned off my amp and, lovingly, put my bass on its stand, I turned my attention to the keyboard. Here, I can say, I'm fairly accomplished. Lessons started at seven and, intermittently, carried through my childhood have equipped me with the ability to read music and translate the notes to the keyboard making sounds most would deem a melody.
I do love writing; don't get me wrong, however, I don't feel the immediate reward I do with musical instruments. Even if the cats flatten their ears and tuck their noses behind paws, I'm happy. Who else matters?
Sable Angel
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