That’s how Charlie refers to anything that occurred in the past: “Wet-da-day, a wong time ago…” It will be a sad day around here when he develops an accurate sense of time.
I have been thinking for about seven months that I need to post this news, but I just keep forgetting. And I’m still slightly in denial. Either that, or trying to convince myself that it’s no big deal.
I used to play the violin. At one time, I was even decent at it. I always loved the idea of it more than I actually loved playing (or practicing), but still: it was a very large part of my identity in high school. After that, I took it out occasionally to play for fun, and then in Vancouver, I joined a little community orchestra for a short stint. Again, I loved the idea of being part of an orchestra and being “a violinist,” but when it came down to it, I didn’t at all enjoy practicing at home and was often slightly bitter about spending one evening a week at orchestra practice. And yet, I knew I would always have my violin, and I very much looked forward to teaching my kids how to play on the violin I had had since Christmas in fourth grade.
Fast-forward to earlier this year, shortly before we moved into our house: our storage unit was broken into. And my violin, along with some luggage and Jeff’s bike and an old classical guitar, was stolen.
It took me a few months to realize that I was heartbroken.
The thing is, I can’t even remember the last time I actually saw my violin, probably in our apartment storage unit in Chicago. Somewhere in the moving process, I assume it was put into the car or the U-haul. But the most perplexing thing is, I was standing by the moving truck when a group of strong and very helpful guys unloaded our stuff (mostly boxes of books) into our storage unit here. I can’t imagine that I would have been okay with their putting the violin into the unit. Wouldn’t I have insisted that we take it to my parents’ house (where we would live for a while)? To keep it out of the elements? It bothers me that I can’t remember.
Nonetheless, I am violinless. We searched my parents’ house high and low just to be certain, and my dad has checked with local pawn shops to no avail.
The whole situation is quite ironic, really — first of all, the fact that we were in the process of buying a house, planning to unload our storage unit in mere weeks; and second, as Jeff said, we’ve lived in two major cities and multiple homes, and the only place we have anything stolen is small-town Kansas.