Is that a cello on your back or are you just happy to see me?

I have been taking cello lessons for exactly one month. My teacher is a charming young professional cellist and composer and we have a good time as I squack (skwak?) my way through each hour while she tries to be supportive and helpful. Here is the main thing that I have learned during my month as a student of the cello: it is HARD. I mean really friggin' difficult. For anyone thinking that they may want to start a new instrument --particularly a string instrument-- be prepared to sound like a dying swan for (get this) the entire first year. Good times, eh?

Try to also imagine navigating the subway turnstiles with a cello-sized backpack. This was a pure comedy when I first tried it, but now I have it down to an art. I slip through the flipper-spinner things like a hot knife through butter. People marvel at my ninja-like grace. (Okay, maybe not. But I imagine they might.) And each and everytime I take my cello for a subway ride, some dumbass asks "Is that a violin?" And then a little bit of me dies inside for the lack of arts and music education funding in schools.

My fingers and hands and wrists hurt like hell, but I have been fairly diligent about practicing. I rock Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The only bad part about practicing is that yes, 99% of it sounds really horrible and I feel bad for our landlords below. I imagine they look at each other when I start "playing" (I used the term loosely) and then simultaneously reach for fuzzy earmuffs to drown out the sound of goose-murder above. I try to play when they are not home.

In other news, I got my little art room and adjoining art closet organized. Nicole has started referring to it as Carrie's Dirty Pillows room. You know, the closet where Carrie's mom sends her when she's been bad... never mind. You had to be there.