Buy a Greyhound ticket to San Diego: A Series of Contemplations
Pros
Sun, fruit, beach, adventure, tan, story, inspiration, warmth, bare feet, vitamin D, vitality.
Cons
Homelessness, fail school, 40 hours of Greyhound, no money to get home.
In this particular case the cons won out, so I remained stuck in the cold and frustratingly uneventful Colorado morning. I went to school and took so many notes that my hands hurt. I realized I’d forgotten to eat lunch before I left, so the muffled cries of my hungry belly added their voice to the somewhat stale lectures I heard on “American expansionism” and puritanical literary hypocrites on soapboxes. When I returned home from my classes I sat in my kitchen, finally satiating by ravenous hunger with yogurt, when my sister called me on the telephone. I answered “hello”, “Hannah, come quickly! I’ve found an accordion at the antique market come now”. I grabbed the jacket closest to me, threw on my flip flops and dashed out the door. I ran the entire way to the antique market, it’s only eight blocks. When I got there, I saw it, a shining, glorious, two octave accordion. I picked it up, played a little and knew that it was the one. I walked home with Gus (it’s a Gus Zoppi accordion) on my shoulders and explored his keys until late into the night.
I’m not sure when I got the idea to become an accordionist. But I can identify several influential incidents/people. First, my grandfather plays the accordion, he’s very good. As a young child I remember watching him play at our springtime family reunions in Idaho. I loved the dramatic swells and vigorous polkas. He played (and still plays) with incredible feeling. I recognize him as my first influence. When i was fifteen I went to France with my best friend and our mothers. One day we were walking down through the metro in Paris when we discovered some musicians, some of whom were accordionists. I took a photograph of them with a camera that was stolen a few days later in a chapel, and marveled at their sound. It was a folky, minor, sonorous sound and I loved it. I saw a few other accordionists when we were in France, they were all playing on the street or in the metro for a dime or two. I wanted to watch them and listen, but Paris is so full, I didn’t have the time. Those troubadours are my second influence. Third, my favorite Italian movie is called “Pane e Tulepi” or “Bread and Tulips”. In this movie the heroine plays the accordion. I remember the first time I saw her play. It seemed like a truly sensational experience. I could go on reciting each and every contact I’ve ever had with the glorious instrument, because I do consider every contact with accordions to be an influence on my eventual obsession, but I shan’t recount them now. The event that pushed me from interest to accordion-lust occurred in the very most unromantic place imaginable, algebra class. We were talking about transformations, expanding and compressing, when it hit me like a hammer. I need an accordion. That was about nine months ago, from that moment on I searched and searched and prayed and watched for the accordion of my life. Until I found Gus. We’re so happy together.
Gus and I had our first public performance tonight, and we’ve only been together one week. I love the feeling of the keys. I love the way my arm aches after a few hours of practice. I love playing with emotion and I love playing things that are far too difficult for me. I love every part of having an accordion. Dreams really do come true.
That’s how a dreary February day turned into the best one ever.
Love,
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