There are many occasions when I wish this was an audible blog, if only to torture your ear drums just a little bit.
Tom is practicing his bag pipes… need I say more? Bashy the cat is howling with every harmonic, Tom looks like a small, pink Dizzy Gillespie and I am trying to encourage an air of calm and supportive encouragement in the face of mega decibels.
It is surely karma that brought bagpipes to my family. I knew from the first moment I met Tom that he would be a blower, and that he surely is. I did try to steer him gently away from the sight or influence of bag pipes…knowing all too well that they were his destiny and my least favourite instrument.
But, the double whammy of Angus MacDonald playing a haunting and powerful reel at a Lismore ceilidh combined with one of the best pipers in Scotland moving to the island was more than my stubborn resolve could bear and I crumbled and Tom now pipes.
I am learning to love it. To respect the light dance of the grace notes, the dependence of the instrument on the moisture from the player in order to live, sing and respond. This is a beast quite different in nature to my instrument. It is a proud animal needing attention to thrive and as a result of my ignorance and awe I have to stand back and let Tom take the reigns and that is good!