Memories
With Strings Attached
by Siu Wai Stroshane
When I was five, I used to curl up under the dining room table of our big
Vermont house while my three older brothers practiced their instruments. I was
fascinated by the sounds they made!
Lloyd, the oldest, played the violin. Neal, the next brother, played the
viola, and Dale, the youngest, played the cello. Lloyd would give the
count--"1-2-3-4," and off they'd go, tapping their feet and scratching
out simple tunes. I remember "Lightly
Row" and a song I knew only as "Dickie Saw a Robin." Sometimes
they'd laugh and sing:
Dickie saw a robin, sitting on a limb
Dickie got his air gun and took a shot at him.
Mother saw the robin, Mother saw the gun
Mother said 'You naughty boy,' and spanked her naughty
son!"
Or words to that effect. Somehow I don't think those were the real words!
At first their playing was full of squeaks. With time, they got better
and no longer squeaked. Once a week Mom would pack a supper and Dad would drive
all of us over rolling hills to Middlebury, where my brothers played in a youth
orchestra. That was where I heard Mozart for the first time, when they played
"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" in a concert.
A few years later, I heard my Uncle Paul playing his cello at our house
in California. He was a music professor at San Diego State. I couldn't believe
the rich, soulful sounds coming from the other room as he practiced a Bach cello
suite. It was as if the cello had come alive, with its own heart and voice. I
knew then I wanted to make music too. The next year I started playing the piano,
and loved it. I still do.