I'm tired of being Good. I've been Good for two whole days and that's about my limit. Danger Girl has a story to tell today and there will be no denying her. My Daddy was a fabulous storyteller.Marvellous. He would do great voices and Explain things. My Mother would always say things like "Don't Encourage her, she's Wild Enough as it is..." and then try to teach me something about ironing or the Right Way to Fold a Fitted Sheet. I still can't do it the Right Way. sigh.
Here's my Daddy's explanation for this phenomenon: The Legend of the Gypsy Princess.
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, the Gypsy wars began. The King of the gypsies had a beautiful daughter who would one day inherit the Kingdom and return music and dancing to the world as it should be. Everybody would have enough and nobody would have to stay in one place and do Just One Thing until they died of Boredom. The Princess had to be protected, hidden away from the world. So, the Gypsy King left her under a rock for someone to find her and bring her up in the ordinary human world.
That someone was my Mother. Her job (as my Daddy told it) was to teach me manners and ordinary tasks so that nobody would recognize the wild gypsy Princess and succeed in blotting out dancing and Music in favor of mechanization and Progress.....
This made perfect sense to me. It explained all kinds of things. Why my Mother would get So exasperated with me and try to Teach Me TO BE GOOD.....why I loved to dance. In the Dark. Ditto for violin music.
When I was about ten, we had Band in school. You choose an instrument and every Tuesday after lunch you practice with the other students and twice a year you give a recital. I chose the flute at first, although I hated the idea of choosing Just One Instrument. That's like the What's Your Favorite Color thing. All of them of course. In different combinations at different times. What kind of a question is THAT?
Anyway. I chose the flute because my Mother is, was, always has been, Absolutely Terrified of Rodents. I figured if I could learn to play the flute really really well I could charm them out of the house and no more mouse traps....and maybe I'd get some Good Girl points. Lord knows I needed to catch up. I got pretty good at the flute until the Dentist decided it was bad for my bite. I was already ready to bite the dentist for the pain he was inflicting on me in the name of perfect teeth, but now I had to give up the flute, too? Such began my hatred for all things dental.
So...I decided to pick the violin next. My father tried to talk me out of this...but I was insistent. He said "You'll be Sorry..." or something to that equivalent. Boy Howdy. No Joke.
I got the rental violin and began to practice the gosh awful pieces the orchestra teacher chose. I was relegated to Second Violin because I was the new kid at this....I was furious. I sawed away at the lifeless piece of wood, dutifully playing my four whole notes when pointed at. ICK. This wasn't what I had in mind at all. I said so during a parent teacher student conference with the orchestra teacher who was trying to coax me out of my belligerent state of mind. "She really could work her way up to First Violin in a year or so" she told my father brightly. I glared and sulked. My father asked her if she had heard my Real Violin playing. "What?" My Daddy explained that I was trying to be good and patient and practicing the four notes she allowed me to produce, but after that alotted time period I really had shown some aptitude for the instrument. There was a beautiful concert violin in the orchestra room that I lusted after. I didn't know what this was called when I was ten, but I HAD TO HAVE that violin. I could hear what it might sound like if I were allowed to play it. My father asked the orchestra teacher if I could be allowed to "try" it. She blanched. He cajoled, she relented. We went to the stage in the Auditorium. I am shaking as I write this. I remember the feel of the wood and the smell of the rosin on the bow....I stood in the middle of the stage. closed my eyes and played something from Memory. Something that a ten year old girl would have no way to understand, and no reason to remember. Unless of course the Legend were true.
I was excused from band and orchestra and given "permission" to try out for gymnastics. It was safer, my parents said. I had no earthly idea what they were talking about.
Last night I had dreams of wild violins, played by women in whirling skirts around a campfire.
Oh. I remember Now.
Break out your favorite mariachi band.....may I present Pancho?