Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Making Music With What You Have Left


As I was waiting for my aged mother to come out of the doctor’s office today, I picked up a devotional magazine, and began reading an interesting story.

It seems Itzhak Perlman, the world-renown violinist, was scheduled to appear in a prestigious concert hall in Manhattan. Of course, the concert was sold out weeks in advance.

After the audience was seated, and the house lights dimmed, Mr. Perlman appeared “in the wings” and strode slowly across the stage. Perlman, (of whom fans of stage and symphony are all too aware) is disabled, and wears heavy braces on his lower legs.

As the celebrated violinist trudged laboriously across the stage, the audience patiently waited for him to take his seat. And having found his seat, and desiring to be as comfortable as possible, Itzhak bent over and unfastened the clasps on his leg braces.

And the music began.

And of course, Mr. Perlman shone bright and waxed eloquent. After a few minutes, however, one of the soloist’ violin strings popped with “zinnngg” and which could be heard throughout the concert hall.

The music stopped.

The conductor did a quick mental inventory of any and all violin strings which happened to be present on the premises; but immediately “drew a blank.” Not to be rattled, however, the violinist laid the bow on the three remaining strings, and picked up where he left off.

Of course, orchestra members and spectators, alike, “waited to exhale,” and the clarity, purity and fluency of the music continued;

… without so much as a hint that the violin was missing one string.

The presentation finally drew to a close, Mr. Perlman bent to re-buckle his leg braces, and rose to retrace his steps from the stage.

The audience went wild with applause and appreciation for the performance of a lifetime.

And with this, the master violinist smiled, took the microphone, and in an apparently ad-lib moment exclaimed,

“Sometimes you have to make music with what you’ve got!”

(No doubt, an allusion to his own disability, rather than that of the violin).

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 13

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