School’s about to begin again, our girls have less than two weeks of their carefree endless summer left to spend.
So, naturally, it has just occurred to them both that they’d really like to get serious now about learning to play guitar and piano. I was dispatched to the hot, dank, dusty attic to retrieve the neglected Casio keyboard for Younger Daughter, and badly out-of-tune string sounds began to emanate from Older Daughter’s room. Later we visited World Music, at their insistence, to see about lessons. It’s an impressive operation, much more alluring than my old piano instructor’s ’60s living room. They’re enthused.
Good for them, growing up in Music City and finally infected with the spirit of “Musica.” I hope it won’t dampen their enthusiasm when we swing by school to pick up their textbooks.
I have no room to complain about their procrastination, with my own summer book project lagging and now in competition with class prep. Today I shall write syllabi.
Some of us get a lot done in summer. Others spend the better part of it figuring out what seems worth doing. Mr. Bennett says the time will be provided. We’re counting on it.