Polly Wins (standard:adventure, 4378 words)
Author: GXD	Added: Aug 06 2007	Views/Reads: 3406/2445	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Achieving success beyond your wildest dreams can be fulfilling -- and even erase the pain and regret of an unexpected volcanic eruption.

Polly Wins """"""""""""" 

Like Einstein, Polly didn't choose the violin.  It chose her. 

In the music store, she felt surrounded by elephantine pianos and cold
glass cabinets with gold and silver flutes.  They frightened her, but 
she was afraid to turn back.  Mama said "Wait", so Polly had to wait.  
One step at a time, she wandered toward the back of the music store, 
until -- quite unexpectedly -- a strange, delicate instrument caught 
her eye.  It was a glossy, chestnut violin, like a noble mare with a 
straight tail, eager to prance.  And, as Polly came closer, she came 
upon a pony just for her!  She bent over the pint-sized violin on its 
diminutive stand, and envisioned herself tall and erect, playing, 
before an audience of everyone, everyone! 

She felt the manager's hand on her shoulder, and the tears began. 
Certainly he would punish her for touching it.  But instead, her father 
gave her a hug, and asked gently, 

"Would you like to play that, Polly,?"  She glanced up at Mama, who
smiled back.  Polly nodded.  Carefully, he picked up the little violin 
and tucked one end beneath her chin; he showed her where to put her 
fingers and placed her thumb at the balance point on the bow.  The 
thrill dried Polly's tears in an instant.  But when her little hand, 
moved by that warm, comforting big one drew forth her first frail 
notes, she flushed with feeling. Only her Sunday school preacher could 
have described it -- like entering paradise and becoming one with the 
universe.  Wisdom called and filled her mind, gave spirit to her soul, 
to her fingers.  Note by note, on her own, she began to create music, 
like God, creating the heavens and the earth.  In a sense, she became 
her own Goddess. 

By the time Polly was ten, she was practicing every day, rushing home
from school to play with her beloved friend.  Sometimes her mother 
played beside her, at the piano.  Now and then, the neighbor's boy 
joined them with his cello.  Marcus was a little older, an orphan whom 
the neighbors took into their home after they lost their own son.  The 
joy of music was among many things he shared with Polly. 

Long after Mama left to make dinner, or to attend her club meetings, the
two practiced harmonic scales, and counterpoint.  They experimented 
with the most challenging passages from new composers.  Her father came 
home from the music store late each evening to find them playing their 
instruments with feverish concentration. Sometimes he joined them on 
the oboe or the clarinet.  And they would all break into laughter if 
one of them missed a cue, or interjected a jazz passage.  On weekends, 
Polly played for her parents' friends; she performed at recitals, 
receptions, even in public -- accompanied by Marcus, who adored her. 

Six years later, Polly had to choose:  Should she join her school
friends at college, or study at home with her father, and follow his 
profession?  In the end, she felt that Dad knew best.  Before she was 
born, he had earned a modest fortune investing in stocks and bonds and 
real estate.  From time to time he advised wealthy patrons and civic 
leaders.  She often heard visitors express their gratitude to him for 
his guidance, and she felt enormously proud of him.  The music store 
was his "retirement" toy, for he had always loved music.  Nobody 
questioned whether it was profitable or not: they never lacked for 
anything money could buy. 

They spent long winter weekends at spas and ski resorts; then traveled
to Europe in the Spring.  Mama still had relatives in Vienna.  
Summertime,  the family sailed on Lake Washington or cruised up the 
coast to Vancouver -- even once to Sitka and Ketchikan. Each fall, 
Polly spent the opening of the Opera season with her parents -- 
sometimes in North American cities, once in Tokyo, again in Melbourne 
and Canberra. 

"Polly," her father would say as she drew in the foresail, while he sat
at the tiller, "If I gave you a hundred thousand dollars to play with, 
tell me how you would play with it?" 

And she would think about that for the better part of a week.  It was a
self-evolving education, because each new gambit led her to exciting 
new alternative opportunities.  It was surprising how many beautiful 


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