A long time ago, my grandmother was babbling on about something. I’m not exactly sure what. My oldest sister said something insolent like “Well! Another trip down memory lane!”
The old woman smacked her.
She probably needed it.
But as I get older I find myself going down that lane a bit myself as I get older. Get this:
My youngest is a masters of music. Clarinet of all things. And I’ve heard her play this piece hundreds of times. FWIW, She’s similar to this lady. Not anywhere near as old, and has blonde hair. But plays similar.
When I hear this piece I’m transported back to a small room in a Plano house where she took lessons from a big, old Russian dude. I can still hear him. “YES!…YES!…” Big happy, or big disappointed. No middle.
He was an amazing dude. Immigrated here in his 40s from Russia. Did what he had to do – deliver pizza in this case I think – to get established. An amazing musician. A man I’m honored to have met. But I digress.
This tune popped up on iTunes as I was working, and I was sent back in time remembering my teenage daughter struggling, then blooming into a piece that’ll make you bubble hearing it.
You can almost see my bear-paw mitts wiping a tear as I try to work missing my daughter far away.
Inspected By Pat 