Who knows how it happens. There is an old proverb that tells us that "every thought is a seed." Perhaps so. It must have been either a particularly invasive seed, or perhaps the fertile conditions of my freshly ploughed mind, or most likely the combination of both. But as it were, I suddenly found myself with the inspiration and desire to take up the Bagpipes, again.
But not only to simply resume playing the pipes, but rather to do something about it. Yes. Like before, once again, as the last agonising breath of summer's heat was felt across the industrial suburbia of North Texas, I, Thomas Wynn, did solemnly vow to finally do something which I had been anticipating in doing since my 16th birthday. Join a pipe band.
"But such an inconvenient time to commit to doing something like this." Yes, it is a particularly inconvenient time. Seeing as how just two months prior to having received this newly found gusto from the celestial spheres, I had sold my last set of Bagpipes. I remember the day well. The pipes, being a brand new set straight from the Edinburgh factory of "Bagpipes Galore!" (emphasis on the exclamation point) were cleaned, checked, and reeds and tenons tuned perfectly early in the morning. At about four-ish a tall kind man with jet black hair and pale Canadian features arrived in a silver van. After I played for him a round of "Scotland the Brave" he, with the pipes, left for home.
I sold the pipes for a little over half of what I paid for them, but it didn't matter. In truth I wanted rid of the pipes. They stood for, for me, a dream which I simply didn't have time to weave into reality. So off they went, along with the practise chanter, with their new owner.
With the last set gone, so it seemed, I could finally breathe. The little black five legged monster was no longer perched over in the corner whispering softly: "Thomas, didn't you intend to play me when you bought me?" and, "Unless you practise on me, you will never be able to join a band!" The set was a constant reminder that, like now, I had made an investment both in money and in time to perfect a craft, but unlike then, now I remember why I had got the set in the first place.
You see, every great painting (at least in tempura and acrylic) starts with a coat of very dark colours. These base colours are extremely dark and earthy, on their own, the figures that they represent are flat, lifeless and austere. But these colours are necessary in order to bring out the beauty and depth in a painting. Once these colours have set on to the canvas, the next thing the artist must do, is to completely wash over these colours with a thin covering of ochre yellow. Once this is done, the painting comes to life, what once were flat and bleak faces, turn warm and start to seem incredibly real. Only with this cloying and kind of irrelevant colour, can the II dimensional traverse into the III.
So it is with life. Before I had purchased the set, I was facing a phase of both mental and spiritual exhaustion. My life had been reduced (like so many that live in this joyless time) to the base colours of reality; Work, Religion, Sleep. I needed something fun and irrelevant to brighten up my days. What better than a pipe band? I began to remember this after I sold the set of pipes. After two months, I was ready to get back into the game.
So when a new practise chanter arrived in the mail a few weeks ago, I was more than glad to begin practising again. I began to look into the available local pipe bands, for one near me to join. I had also decided to document my experiences from the beginning online, not just for a memorial, but so that if any poor soul feels the need to try on the glossy ghillies of the world of bagpiping, well at least there is this blog to open the window!
Until next time,
~Thomas
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