I’m not a hoarder or sentimental about most things yet annual occasions like the Spring clean reveal yet another a trove of objects for clear out. Looking at the piles in their black bags ready for the charity shops I’m rather appalled at this refuse. Somethings I never liked – clothes bought on an impulse by what must be another personality that I know nothing about. Most things I’m just tired of, or they are past their best, or no longer have a place in my life.
Reflecting on the discard piles, I can visualise the temptations beckoning from shop windows, hours of shopping, and the back and forth trips trailing in the latest must-have item that has suckered me into parting with my money. Fast forward the film of all these shopping trips and I resemble a manic squirrel. When times are hard however it’s more than just discarding what we want to part with. I took this, and other photos of my mandolin, prior to selling it. After all I’d bought it late in life, never achieved any dexterity with it but could pluck out a tune to accompany my fellow, family guitarists, especially with the aid of those not so legal highs.
It gathered dust over the last few years and I felt guilty. Just hanging on the wall, it pinpointed my disappointment in not being the musician I imagined I could be, and besides it was surely wrong to hold on to an instrument when a more talented hand could be making it play like only an Ovation mandolin can. (Actually the Spanish have it right – toscar – to touch is to play.)
So where is it now? I confess the mandolin still lies entombed in the case, placed there prior to hardening my heart and taking it to the music shop. Some things are just too hard to part with.