When the fiddle brings on the thunder
I don’t practice my many musical instruments enough. In fact, this whole blog started as a tongue in cheek reminder to myself to get busy. Schedules shouldn’t interfere with the basics of one’s culture.
Tonight, the rest of the family has gone off in search of good Mexican food. I just wasn’t hungry enough to get dressed in my sombrero and gaucho pants (I know, that’s Argentinian), rather, my poncho. I stayed home with the dog, who probably would have looked funny with salsa on the muzzle, but abjured.
With an almost empty house, out came the fiddle. First interruption came from two young ladies seeking son #3. This was a FIRST. Too bad he was gone for supper. Maybe the fiddle drew them to the door. Next, the torrential rains began, which required setting off on a window-closing tour. Back to the bow. Third came the thunder. Not a weak, mumbling storm. Rather, a full-throated shake the floor rumbler.
Is this a sign? I’m going to watch the cloud cover before the fiddle gets more playtime. Or, there’s that new accordion.
