Mom's Banjo

Mom's banjo has been around as long as I can remember. When she moved into her condo, the banjo came home with me. Since then, it has floated between the living room wall, the attic, and the office, which used to be my son's bedroom.

All I know about the banjo is that it is a B&D Symphonie Silver Bell, and it is heavy. The B&D stands for Bacon & Day; and Symphonie is spelled that way right on the banjo. My grandfather was somehow able to get this beautiful banjo for mom in the 1930s, in the heart of the Great Depression. That she managed to hang onto it for all those years seems unlikely, but she did. Now it is mine.

Last Christmas, Adam and Beth gave me the gift of banjo lessons. I had been making noises for several years that mom's banjo needed to be played, so they thought I should learn. I took my first lesson about six weeks ago, and have now been through three hours of frustration, laughter, anxiety, and pain. Usually the frustration wins out. How long will I keep up with the lessons? I haven't the foggiest. I was ready to quit after the second lesson, but then I remembered why I wanted to take the lessons in the first place. This banjo needs to be played; and I need something that takes me out of my comfort zone.

I now know two chords, the C chord and the G7 chord. Actually, I know three because I peeked ahead in the lesson book at the F chord, but don't tell Andre.) I have not yet figured out where my fingers go on the frets or strings (the banjo is a four string tenor banjo), or how to slide them up and down the strings, or what frets equal what notes.
Until my next lesson, in two weeks, I will be practicing the chromatic scale on all the strings. So if you happen to be in my neighborhood and hear what could be an animal in distress, please don't get too upset. I will just be me, practicing.

Wish me luck.