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Showing posts from February, 2010

Used Violins, New Harps

My older son is about to graduate to a concert harp. We're going to return his old Troubador harp to his old teacher go look for a new harp. His new teacher wants to come along and help him find the right new harp. Harps have a strange tendency to be rather picky about who plays them.

My younger son has graduated to a half-size violin. We're selling his smaller violins, which we bought new and have gotten him a very nice used violin that has a mellow, reassuring sound. This old violin has been making music before my son was even born. It sounds like it knows what it's doing.

In the meantime, I'm wrestling with shopping for a new anything. I had to play piano and oboe as a kid because we had those sitting around the house. I didn't think that instruments were anything you went out and actually bought at a store. I just thought you picked up whatever was lying around and then were forced to learn to play it. We had guitars and complicated-looking mandolins and battered…
Boy clothes. Please mommy! Can I have this? Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!

If boys like it, they will wear it. Out. It will turn into a rag and is no good for anything. Even dust. Occasionally, you will see boy clothes at the Goodwill. Occasionally you will get them in a sack as a hand-me-down. Do not bother with these items. They are dust and upon contact with the dust, unto dust they shall return.

There are some things, however, that one shall seek in boys' clothes: nice sweaters, dress clothes, dress shoes. For these are avoided by boys, worn only for a few moments before they are stripped away and hidden in the airless space between the mattress and the box spring.

These are the nice sweaters of boys who live in Florida. One was once worn during Thanksgiving in Seattle and once in an unusual Sunday cold snap. The other was begrudgingly worn thrice. This year's unusual, extended freeze, they were too small.

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Cruel Shoes

Cinderfella's slippers. These are not women's shoes. They're too small for me, but I just couldn't pass em up. They looked like they've been danced in a carpeted cage or around a block a few times--London's Trade in Clerkenwell or Orange in Vauxhall.

But those British and their shoes--these may be cheap looking, but they aren't cheaply made. The inside is supple kid leather and the little bitty straps are like dainty horse bridle buckles. So, how did these nasty little things get across the Atlantic?

He packed em up to do a little partying in South Beach, and never went home. American food, barefoot beach walking and the salt air caused fallen arches and splayed feet. Finding the man who fits the slipper will be impossible. Let's do that.

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