Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky. Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
Keats wrote that.
I know that fact as I have been reading a lot of classic literature lately because, just like that sick eagle staring at the sky, I too am imagining all the things I failed to do in my life that I could have done except I was too busy being shallow and low brow.
In three short months (or normal months really), I turn sixty, and if I rated myself on all of the high-brow things I’ve completed in my life thus far from one to ten, I’d get a minus seventeen bajillion.
Will two weeks of school holidays be long enough to turn myself into the type of person who can pick up a guitar and play like Jose Feliciano, quote the Romantic poets, drop my knowledge of the Great Masters into a conversation and open a world famous gallery of my own hand-painted rock collection?
In three short months (or normal months really), I turn sixty, and if I rated myself on all of the high-brow things I’ve completed in my life thus far from one to ten, I’d get a minus seventeen bajillion.
Will two weeks of school holidays be long enough to turn myself into the type of person who can pick up a guitar and play like Jose Feliciano, quote the Romantic poets, drop my knowledge of the Great Masters into a conversation and open a world famous gallery of my own hand-painted rock collection?
One can only try.
I am teaching myself to play the guitar and my aim is to master the chords to The Gambler by next Christmas. I realise The Gambler is not traditionally a Christmas song. It is however, of religious significance in our family… looking at you, Uncle Pedro… along with other classics such as, Seven Spanish Angels, Folsom Prison Blues and Ring of Fire.
One thing, however, has put a dampener on my musical excitement... Scotto.
He’s bought a violin online.
As I’m currently at home on school holidays, I get to greet the postman every day and today the severely stressed out postie delivered a violin. Either that or Scotto is secretly a gangster and the box contains a machine gun.
I am teaching myself to play the guitar and my aim is to master the chords to The Gambler by next Christmas. I realise The Gambler is not traditionally a Christmas song. It is however, of religious significance in our family… looking at you, Uncle Pedro… along with other classics such as, Seven Spanish Angels, Folsom Prison Blues and Ring of Fire.
One thing, however, has put a dampener on my musical excitement... Scotto.
He’s bought a violin online.
As I’m currently at home on school holidays, I get to greet the postman every day and today the severely stressed out postie delivered a violin. Either that or Scotto is secretly a gangster and the box contains a machine gun.
I'm furious.
Years ago, whilst sitting in an Irish pub sculling wine, I casually mentioned I wanted to learn the tin whistle and what do you think arrived in the mail for Scotto within a week?
Years ago, whilst sitting in an Irish pub sculling wine, I casually mentioned I wanted to learn the tin whistle and what do you think arrived in the mail for Scotto within a week?
A tin whistle.
He didn’t tell me at the time but he had it for ages and was planning on learning to play it on the sly and then SHOW OFF by randomly picking it up and playing it like a long lost brother of the Corrs or something.
Well, he never practised it once.
Neither of us even so much as brushed our lips against its metallic piping actually and it’s currently ensconced in my underwear drawer probably whistling songs of the Emerald Isle to itself amongst my knickers.
The reason I’m so upset about the violin is that I know Scotto will NEVER practise and if I see HIM not practising, I might stop practising the guitar, and that will be disappointing as I’ve been very keen up until now.
Not only that, I think Scotto’s trying to one-up me again. Violins are much classier than guitars and much easier to stash away in an underwear drawer when you get sick of them too.
As mentioned above, I’ve also begun rock painting. These are my first creations.
Well, he never practised it once.
Neither of us even so much as brushed our lips against its metallic piping actually and it’s currently ensconced in my underwear drawer probably whistling songs of the Emerald Isle to itself amongst my knickers.
The reason I’m so upset about the violin is that I know Scotto will NEVER practise and if I see HIM not practising, I might stop practising the guitar, and that will be disappointing as I’ve been very keen up until now.
Not only that, I think Scotto’s trying to one-up me again. Violins are much classier than guitars and much easier to stash away in an underwear drawer when you get sick of them too.
As mentioned above, I’ve also begun rock painting. These are my first creations.
You know about Van Gogh’s Blue Period? Well this is my Lady Bug period.
Later this week will be my Hedgehog Period.
Scotto displayed great interest in my artwork and has already pinched one as a decoration for his office.
Next thing you know the postie will be trudging up the driveway with giant canvasses and oil paints that Scotto has ordered online just to be one step ahead of me.
He says I'm his inspiration.
Hmmmmf.
