My cello nationality ought to well known on this blog, but it seems that I have not seen fit to mention at all my affiliation with it. Well, I shall inform you that dear Celler (pronounced: cheller) is doing quite well, and we were practicing Camille Saint-Saens' The Swan just moments ago. Celler said to tell my stalkers that I am such a bad cellist that I am not even worthy to play his honorable strings, but I told him sternly that he oughtn't be so haughty; his strings were but the cheep ones sent along with his chinsy body. "You were made by a machine," I told him, "Don't be so proud of yourself." Of course, he was totally offended. I felt bad for insulting him so, so I displayed how pleased I was at his un-squeeky-ness (which was remarkable, seeing how out of practice he - ahem - we are.
We decided that it would be good if I made it a point to practice together every day. "Yes," he told me. "You have been leaving me in my case much too long. See, I even have dust on me!" Of course, he was being utterly rude by insinuating that I neglect him. I should think he knows how busy I am, but no. He loves to remind me of all the hours I spend practicing the piano, and I would almost think he's jealous of that old box of strings.
Even so, he is right. I ought to practice more. I am not one fourth as good as I would wish to be, so I really need to work hard. Someday I will get lessons, and though I am not there yet, I will practice diligently till that day. Besides, just getting a teacher won't make practicing much easier!
I must make a habit of practicing....
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