Peggy Dover

You’ve probably been wondering how the bass lessons are going. Quite possibly it’s keeping you up at night like it is me. Not really. I have other excuses for losing sleep, and I don’t always need one.

One year and three months on, I am still schlepping Lady Blue, my stunning Ibanez bass guitar, into downtown Medford and up the stairs to Rogue Music Academy. I should have kept a journal because surely, I’ve learned more than the sounds (or lack thereof) emanating from my instrument would indicate.

I knew zip when starting, except I had an ear for music and the bass pulsated with my heart and soul. It is my instrument, though I sometimes look longingly at those with ukuleles. But they’re not building arm strength then, are they. Playing the bass is rather like planking while making music.

One thing I have learned along life’s hall of mirrors is that things aren’t usually as they appear. Events have sub-surface value. Effort is its own reward. You can lead a horse … oh, wait. You only reap what you’re willing to invest.

It’s true for marriage, children, a garden and learning any new thing, like playing the bass guitar. There are days when my heart just isn’t in it, but I try to get my fingers and brain engaged with several practices a week. The more I learn, the further the shore appears, but my fingers are becoming accustomed to the shapes of chords.

I’m starting to hit notes without looking; sometimes they’re the right ones. I rarely think about my right hand as it has memorized the distance between strings. I hear the bass in classic rock songs and wish I could hoist Lady Blue and play along. I wish I knew the fretboard and that my fingers were limber and fast enough to pick out creative arpeggios on their own. But hey, I do know a fretboard from an arpeggio.

Adrian Wright, my instructor and half of the wonderfully talented Jared Gutridge Duo, is teaching me music theory, which is an other-worldly language that doesn’t seem to make sense, but works wonderfully well. I’m working on time signatures. It’s one thing to hear the beat or rhythm and copy it, but it’s a string of a different twang to read and decipher the note pattern from a sheet of music.

Proficiency requires a trade-off. I may never write another book or sit in with a band if I fill my hours watching “The Great British Bake Off,” which I adore. I’ve discovered a treasure trove of free black-and-white movies on YouTube; an endless cinematic experience awaits each time. I can hook up my laptop and watch classic British mysteries on the telly to my heart’s content. These diversions were tailor-made for me by the enemy of my soul, I’m sure.

Learning new things is like exercise. I feel good after having done it, but it’s the boring repetition, the metronome of living and physical effort required that makes it such a challenge and easy to skip. Small but measurable successes help. The mind is able to learn and grasp new concepts at any age. I’m extremely grateful for that. It’s actually quite fun and fulfilling to realize that the gray matter is fertile real estate.

I recommend taking a stab at something new. It could be as simple as visiting a new coffee shop (mine gives away books where I discovered Louise Penny and her Inspector Gamache) or sitting in with a knitting circle. I’m sure you’d be welcome. Learning chess, having a stab at fencing, joining a koi club? Every new movement opens the door to possibilities and adventure.

The best age to learn is your age. Learning connects neurons in your brain and may slow the effects of time. It provides conversation at your next friend gathering and sparks courage in others. Curiosity helps chase the glooms.

Adrian is threatening to put me in a band, sort of like a recital, and have me play Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire.” I have the black outfit to swing it. My friends and I all danced to that song at my 60th birthday party. Little did I know it would come back to burn me.