It’s a long way from my teen years. I played the cello well back then. My favourite memory was being part of the All-City Orchestra. We played at the opening of Toronto’s new city hall in 1967. It’s still an amazing building:

We set up in the plaza you see. An old man slowly climbed the podium steps. He was Sir Ernest MacMillan, a Canadian conductor and composer. His body shook as he held the baton. He led us in Land of Hope and Glory. I was so happy. Six years later Sir Ernest was dead, having left a long path of musical contribution to Canada.

I got to be there. I got to play. I got to feel the orchestra members around me. We soared.

***

I want to soar again. I want that surge of joy within the music. Fifty-six years after quitting the cello, I once again sit with the instrument between my legs. The flow of the bow. The occasional purity of the melody played.

I’m far from the sweetness of my teenaged playing. And that’s okay. As they say in martial arts, “I put myself on the mat”.

My teacher Lieven is hosting a cello concert on January 23, featuring his child and adult students. I will play a tune called Latin Nights. So far so bad. The fingers of my left hand aren’t remembering the notes well. They have a good idea about “first position” but “fourth position” is literally a stretch.

And the notes are often not written on the beat. The curved lines you see in the sheet music mean that the notes below them need to be played smoothly, with one long bow stroke. Ha! I’m not there yet.

As I’ve said before in other moments, I promise to play with passion on the 23rd. I aspire to produce a lovely tone, to play in tune, to get the timing right. But it’s not within my power to promise that. What I can say is that I’ll hold my head high, sweep the bow across the string, let my body sway to the music … and feel the joy of it all.

So there