My midlife bass guitar crisis

A few weeks ago Nancy, our church's music director, came up to me and asked, "Is there any way you could learn guitar in six weeks." There is a state-wide women's conference at our church at the end of March, and she was trying to put together an all chick band. I started to laugh. No! No way am I going to learn guitar in six weeks. Thanks for thinking of me, though!

Just then my husband Mr. I-have-more-musical-talent-in-my-pinkie-than-my-wife-has-in-her-entire-body popped his little head between us and said, "She could learn bass guitar."

And that, dear friends and loved ones, is how I became the proud owner of a shiny gray bass guitar last Thursday.

Cool, right? See how it has four strings? So far I know four notes. Okay, I have learned a few more, but I am going to need all of the next five weeks to prepare for my big debut at the women's event.

I figure as far as mid-life traumas go, this is a pretty safe one. It's got a rock and roll element without the tiny sports car price tag.

I do need to figure out what the hip happenin' rockin' mama carries in her case besides chapstick.

And I might need leather pants . . .