The Little Red Basket

December 30, 2007 at 5:14 AM

During tonight's practice, I picked up Wienaski's Legende again. I tried to play it a couple of years ago and failed miserably. My vibrato and sound just wasn't mature enough to tackle it.

Well, tonight when I played it, as I seeped into the notes, something strange happened.

When I first started playing the violin five years ago, I remember finding a square, red basket, just big enough to hold my music. Everytime, I'd buy sheet music or receive a new piece from my teacher, I'd throw it into that basket like a child drops a prized penny into piggy bank. It came to the point where the basket started to overflow only after two years. I had 80% violin sheet music and 20% percent viola. My teacher had talked me into playing viola because the orchestra needed it and she sincerely believed I was more gifted at the violin than the viola because of my slow bow arm (whatever that meant--I think she was just tryin' to flatter me). Anyways, everytime I'd practice I'd take pride in the amount of strength it took for me to lift my small red basket.

I remember days, standing in the sun, it rays glaring down on me, my skin turning darker, while I waited for the bus to come and take me to my lessons. I had my violin and viola case with me, plus my backpack for school and several other needed cases. And as I lugged my stuff onto the bus, the bus driver's stare of impatience shooting through me and the laughs of the passengers piercing my back, a smile never left my face, for knowing I was going to a violin/viola lesson. And when I came home to add another piece of music to the basket, I'd always say to myself, "It is so worth it." So, when mom would cry in the privacy of her room, her sobs filling my room through our conjoined walls, I'd glance at my little red basket and hope that someday, something, through trials and tribulation, would make her as happy as that little red basket made me.

And it was like a best friend that the basket continued to be a symbolic joy for me. I remember packing all of our stuff into black bags and my mom's worried, frantic movements throughout the house, trying to contemplate where we were going to stay. My brother looking at all of our animals, the rats, the tarantula, the snake, the dog, the water dragon, his small face questioning mom, "Are we just going to leave them? Will the pet store kill them? Or will the pound kill our dog?" To the very last moment when we sat in the car, driving in circles around the city we use to have a home in, trying to find a shelter and a place for our rottie, I clutched my little red basket on my lap. Even the moment, when we drove miles to stay in a nearly abandoned motel in the middle of the desert, the only people were druggies and a blind woman with her children, running away from an abusive husband, I was comforted by the little red basket on the side of our twin bed, which we all squeezed into that night in a unheated room of 10 degrees, our bodies shocked by the change, our minds plagued with despair, longing, and dejavu.

Of course, God, my actual violin, my mom and brother, also helped me through this horrible segment of our lives, but it was tonight when I glanced into every corner of my new room and saw that my little red basket was nowhere to be found, that somewhere in the course of homelessness, home found, many trials and goodtimes, I had lost track of my little red basket, that I stopped my bow (I was just finishing the Legende), placed my violin on my bed, bowed my head and began to cry. I started to wonder, Was it in dumpster yard somewhere, sitting on top of rotten bananas and rusting car parts, feeling betrayed? Was it left in that nasty motel with cigarettes now overflowing in its belly, instead of music? And if so, would I ever be reunited with it again? The worst feeling is not knowing where something you love is, I guess.

On a happier note, my mom came into my room and said that that was the best she ever heard me play. Well the strange thing that happened was I had totally zoned out during the piece and did not hear a thing(you know, thinking about the above), so I wish my mom could have recorded me, because if there was ever an example of someone playing with heart, becoming one with the music, letting the music overtake the senses, the mind loosing itself in measures and bars, I surely did it tonight.

On another happy note, during finals week, my mom's friend sent me a box filled with all my music.

Also, on an even more happier note, I'd like to welcome Joe S. to the Bro-SisHood of blogging on v.com! And Congrats to Ruth Kuefler on her great year!

So, anyways, just a moment of reflection.

From Pauline Lerner
Posted on December 31, 2007 at 4:53 AM

That was very moving. Homelessness must be so awful. I'm glad you've got a home, your instrument, and your music again. I can understand that you miss your red basket, but you will always have it in your heart to think back on. I wish you much better times in 2008.

From Joe S.
Posted on January 1, 2008 at 1:51 AM

Jasmine - Thank you for your welcome! I just figured out how to enable the comment feature! Anyway - Best wished in '08 to you, your family, and your violin!

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The Little Red Basket

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