Monday, February 14, 2011
Music is the food of love
There’s a magnet on my fridge that reads “If music be the food of love, play on.” My mother gave it to us when my DH and I moved into our house. It’s a pretty good description of our relationship.
I’ve told this story on my blog before, so forgive the repetition if you’ve already heard it. We met sixteen years ago. After a few years of not playing much guitar, I’d decided to take some lessons to get me motivated. I was working at Dalhousie University at the time, and one day I saw a notice on a bulletin board from a guitar instructor looking for students. I called the number, and the rest is history.
By the time my first lesson ended, I knew Everett was not only a fine musician but an excellent teacher – an uncommon combination. It took longer to make up my mind about him as a person. He’s quiet and reserved, not the kind of man you get to know right away. We talked mostly about music, nothing personal, but my lessons often seemed to run overtime.
I belonged to the Halifax Harbour Folk Society, and when it was my turn to act as host for the weekly coffeehouse session, Everett agreed to join me. That was a bear of a winter in Halifax, and when we left the pub it had started to snow. Hard. I insisted I’d be okay driving home, as it was only a few blocks. We said goodnight and got in our separate vehicles.
When I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building, Everett’s headlights flashed in my mirror. I’d been so focussed on the road, I hadn’t noticed him following me. He bumped his horn and drove off.
I was impressed. He had a much longer drive home. We weren’t dating at the time, just beginning to become friends, but he’d gone out of the way to see that I got home safely. That was the night I began to wonder if he might be a keeper. When he stopped charging me for lessons, I knew he was thinking the same way.
We complement each other musically as well as we do in other ways. I can hear lyrics once and, if they affect me, I’ll remember them. Everett doesn’t remember lyrics, but he can lift the most complicated chords from a recording. He’s a true musician, while I’m really more of a poet who likes to sing. We also share an interest in science. Being a creative person, he understands when I glue myself to my laptop to write . He isn’t a fiction reader – technical manuals or science magazines are more his style – and he hasn’t read my books, but he supports me and gives me my space. We’re still playing on.