My husband with his bass, before selling it
I have a story to tell. It is recent—from five days ago on my trip to Michigan—and I’ve felt it in me since that day. It is an emotional story, one with great meaning to me. The only problem is I’m not sure what the story is or what the emotion is, or even if it is my story. I’ve sat down to write about it several times, only to find myself rejecting what I’ve written. “This isn’t it,” I say, recognizing that I haven’t found what I’m looking for and what I’m feeling. Now I’m trying again.
Part I: The Back Story
Ten years ago, after a professional career as an orchestra musician followed by many years playing in a local amateur chamber orchestra, my husband stopped playing string bass. He decided it was time, and that was it. His bass—a beautiful wooden instrument made in 1860—sat unused for a number of years in our basement.
My husband knew that some day he would sell it. Two years ago he became ready. First he sent it to a respected repairman/dealer in New Mexico for repair and upgrading, and then that dealer put the bass on the market. My husband’s hope was that whoever bought the bass would love it and play it with affection and musical sensibility.
Someone did buy the bass, a young woman earning a master’s degree in performance. She and my husband exchanged e-mails. It was as my husband hoped—she absolutely loved the instrument and—even better—she seemed quite charming.
In a nice twist, this woman’s father lived in the same city as my husband’s family. Some day a visit would be possible. My husband would get to not only meet this woman but also see and hear the improvements made to the bass.
That “some day” came on our recent trip to Michigan. On Sunday, August 22, 2010, we drove up to a house in Ann Arbor—only five minutes from where my husband’s mother lives—and saw a young woman waving from the front door.
I accompanied my husband, but my participation was unclear. My knowledge of and association to this instrument were indirect; I did not approach the visit with a strong sense of anticipation or drama, although I recognized this was a welcome opportunity. I brought my camera–definitely an event to document–and my curiosity. What would this be like for my husband? What, if anything, would I appreciate about the improved bass? What would this event mean to the new owner? Ironically, I did not ask myself what this event would mean to me.
In Part II: The Visit (Reunion), we meet the new owner and see the bass.
Questions for Reflection: Given this back story, what do you imagine is coming? Have you ever sold an item of great value that had a significant place in your life? What do you make of the fact that the writer of this blog is not the person who owned the bass?
Writing Prompts: “This story reminds me of when I ______” (then keep writing); “If I stop using an item I ______” (then keep writing); “If it were my story, I would/would not want to meet the woman because ______” (then keep writing).
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This story reminds me of my husbands search for the guitar he had in college. He loved the guitar and played in many bands. He sold it to buy law books. We have never found the guitar, but I am sure the reunion would be tearful and welcomed. If we were to find the new owner I would hope that they loved and cared for the guitar as he had.
Julia – “Reunion”–that’s a word I’m using too. Wouldn’t it be something if we could connect with owners of cherished belongings from our life?
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