It started at the beginning of November. I don't think it was an accident that my desire to learn to play cello was made manifest. For a while my left hand had been (and continues to be) gaining in dexterity and strength. (It almost goes without saying that ergo, my left arm, shoulder, torso--dorsal and frontal--all the way down to my pelvis--It's the pelvis, Elvis!--has opened up.) This, I think, made the idea of learning cello a concrete notion.
It's quite a deceleration to pick up an unfretted instrument after years of playing piano. The piano is tuned by someone else and as long as the right key is played, the right tone will sound. On cello, November and December were my sick cow days. This is the most apt description I can think of for the way I sounded. Oh, the bellowing! But I think the bovine is s-l-o-w-l-y on the mend and hopefully--maybe in 5 years or so--she'll be musing over arias. For now I'm content she's on the road to recovery.
One of my big first impressions: the bulk of the instrument. Sitting at the piano is all tidy and neat--more or less. The cello crawls between your legs and it makes me feel pregnant. I'm getting used to it though and can sense a love making potential. I also have to carry it to and fro my lesson, which means carrying it all the way to work after my lesson and back home after work. This I'm also getting used to (think turnstiles!). It was awkward at first. On the subway I'm to the point where I can cradle the cello between my legs and knit at the same time! Yes!
Bowing was harder than I imagined, it looks easy-peasy, it isn't. Although I'm sure it will eventually seem so.