I had to go to the oncologist today.
For those of you still wondering, an
oncologist is a
cancer specialist. At an oncologist's office, there are invariably lots of old people doing
chemotherapy and looking, in general, scared and tired and lonely.
Needless to say, I felt like the
turd in the
punchbowl being young and strapping and
scared and tired and lonely.
An old lady I was sitting next to saw me perusing my
counterpoint book and writing an exercise in four-part fifth species. After about three minutes, she said "
No."
I turned to her. "Huh?"
"You can't do that."
"Do what?"
"That
melody in the alto there. You can't use a
cambiata in half notes."
Needless to say, I was
floored. This woman was so ancient looking, strapped to three
machines and a walker, and yet, here she was, calling me on counterpoint mistakes. After checking the work, I saw she was right.
"What would you do there?"
"I'd put it down and get to writing real
music. Life's too short for counterpoint. You know it, so get on with it and
compose."
I asked my oncologist who she was. She'd sung
opera in the late 30's and 40's and then got lost in the war.
Some days hold
lessons you can't learn from a book.