I'll never be John Bonham

We sold my beautiful 5-piece drum set this weekend. A music dealer drove one hundred miles to purchase it, and we got $150 less than I wanted, but $50 more than Tim expected. The dealer explained that he bought drum kits as a hobby, that he had pulled a muscle in his back last year, and suffered from serious depression as a consequence. The only thing that could raise his spirits was playing new drums. He and his tattooed, redneck nephew drove up on the spur of the moment, played the drums for five minutes, then packed them into his truck. The dealer was chatty, and excited that they were in such beautiful condition.

They were in near-perfect condition because I hadn't touched them in four months. I kind of hate myself for that. After Christmas, all I could think about was drums. After many "should we really do this?" conversations, we took some wedding money, and a gift card to Guitar Center, and got a great deal on a Tama Rockstar close-out set. I couldn't keep my hands off them. I learned three or four different beats, and occasionally Tim and I would jam. We even got Meghan to sing "Fever," and worked up a passable version.

And then I hit the wall that I always do with musical instruments: my natural ability only goes so far. I'm not good at actually learning things. Spending time, being not good, that's really not my forte.

It's an expensive lesson to learn: don't spend money on new hobbies, because I just don't have the follow-through gene. I feel like I should have learned that long ago.

At least my guitar didn't cost that much. I still play it from time to time. My piano keyboard sits gathering dust. I need another musical to reinvigorate my fingers.