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Opinion: As we get older, increasing loss is the lay of the land. But at 75, I made a surprising gain

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Opinion: As we get older, increasing loss is the lay of the land. But at 75, I made a surprising gain

As a lifelong music enthusiast and a woman who has seen more than her fair share of life’s ebbs and flows, I can wholeheartedly say that the decision to pick up the cello at 75 has been one of the most rewarding and challenging experiences of my golden years.

As we grow older, change becomes the constant backdrop. Changes in physical abilities like reduced agility or hearing issues, or vision problems like cataracts. Loss of loved ones, friends, family members, and even icons from our youth. It’s a steady, unyielding rhythm that hasn’t (yet) halted the dance, but it does modify the dance moves, compelling us to adapt our steps accordingly.

At times, I find myself drawn to remain motionless, hoping that perhaps the passage of time might slow or even halt the pain of my loss.

The idea to take up the cello at 75 was born in that stillness. It seemed like it could be a timely distraction, a way to adjust to Slow, a way of connecting the dots of a lifetime of casual musical engagement — piano, violin, choir. The instrument’s reputation as melancholic a complement to the sorrows, even.

In the past, I enjoyed playing the violin as a pastime, often more like a fiddle and seldom in front of an audience. However, when I was 70, I fractured my left wrist after falling down a set of concrete stairs, making the violin feel like another loss in my life. My hand surgeon was exceptional, presenting me with two choices: a straightforward solution that would leave my hand weak, or a rigorous approach involving immobility followed by rigorous exercise for a year, which could potentially restore almost full functionality to my hand if done correctly.

He said to me, “If you were either 90 or 40, we’d opt for the simple or difficult route respectively. Since you’re neither too young nor too old, it’s up to you to decide and commit to the path you want.” His words sparked motivation within me. I chose the challenging path. I battled against the loss.

Despite all efforts at repair and recuperation, my left hand remained stiff, unable to twist adequately around the violin neck for an extended period needed to play a lively tune. Consequently, my instrument transformed into something I loaned to younger friends or kept in our living room on display, serving as a symbol of sorts, marking the unspoken sorrow I struggled to acknowledge.

Previously, I traveled to Nashville over the autumn season to join friends from my early days, who were there to celebrate a milestone 80th birthday. The event was filled with laughter, awe, and a significant dose of sadness all at once. We danced to bluegrass tunes under the open sky, but it also served as a poignant reminder of the void left by those absent. There were numerous empty seats, many new faces using walkers or wheelchairs, and more than a few showing signs of cognitive decline.

It’s quite intriguing, as some old acquaintances asked me about the violin that’s been absent. I divulged the tale of my broken hand to clarify its disappearance. In this gathering, empathy was swiftly offered. However, one individual, without a moment’s pause, countered with “What about the cello? No need for twisting the wrist, your hand simply moves up and down the neck. Four fretless strings, a breeze to play!

Typically, I tend to deliberate extensively on my choices by creating lists of advantages and disadvantages, and delving deeply into history and context through borrowed library books. However, upon getting back home, I made a spontaneous call to the music shop where I’d previously repaired my violin. In just one day, a cello, case, bow, and rosin were delivered to my house. And surprisingly, within another day, I discovered a teacher residing merely blocks away from me.

Over the last six months, I’ve frequently strolled Vermont Avenue on Sundays afternoons, carrying my cello much like a backpack, all the way to Silverlake Conservatory of Music. The education there has proven to be more challenging and enticing than either me or my “supposedly simple” friend anticipated.

I can barely do anything that approaches music yet. Still, the cello is magic. Surely all instruments are, each its own miracle of math and physics and intuition. Finding the right note is more about touch than seeing.

My proficient teacher, Derek – who is the son of a cellist and has been playing the cello throughout his life – often emphasizes this advice: “In order to locate the note you desire on these fretless strings, identify your natural inclinations and correct them if necessary. Rely on your instincts.

Well then, let’s adapt to the setbacks. Remember, it’s a natural instinct for humans to build upon what remains, which can be quite difficult to resist. As of now, the cello is the instrument in my living room.

Margaret Ecker is a retired nurse and a second soprano in the Ebell Chorale in Los Angeles.

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2024-10-22 13:33

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