The sun is actually shining out there this morning! Having a very difficult time accepting that I am going to be a grown-up and make myself go to work, where I will be in an office instead of outside playing. Oh-well, there will still be sunshine when I get home later (there better be!!!).
I went a little dark in here yesterday. I thought I'd counter it with something I've been wanting to write down for awhile. I want to start writing more stories about my parents' lives- the happy stuff. Someday I am going to print it all out and give it to my kids.
The last time I saw Dad, he started talking about the piano that he has in his storage shed. It's the same piano that was always in the family house in Paradise, right at the bottom of the stairs. Mom could play the guitar, accordion and the piano. Out of the three, the piano was her favorite. When they moved out of Paradise, the piano never made it into their new place; it was just too big for their downsized home. I don't think I ever heard Mom play again after they moved, which was sad because she played beautifully.
Dad was talking about that piano, and about how he wants to have it restored and retuned. He isn't a big talker- he's not the kind of guy who will sit you down and tell you his whole life story in one sitting. He lets little gems slip out once in awhile though, and the back story behind the piano was one of those.
The story starts with him, right after he first moved to Paradise to work at the railroad. He was living in a little house on the property of my grandparents, right behind their family house. He said that after work he would sit outside his little house and listen to that piano playing inside the big house. He didn't know it yet, but it was my mom, her sister and her best friend in there. It sounded like they were having fun- being silly and rowdy. So, in a way, that piano was his first introduction to Mom, which for them was the most appropriate and perfect introduction I can think of. If there was ever a way to get his attention, is was through music (well, music or old cars, preferably of the model T variety). It probably also didn't hurt that when he actually met her, she was a beauty.
I went a little dark in here yesterday. I thought I'd counter it with something I've been wanting to write down for awhile. I want to start writing more stories about my parents' lives- the happy stuff. Someday I am going to print it all out and give it to my kids.
The last time I saw Dad, he started talking about the piano that he has in his storage shed. It's the same piano that was always in the family house in Paradise, right at the bottom of the stairs. Mom could play the guitar, accordion and the piano. Out of the three, the piano was her favorite. When they moved out of Paradise, the piano never made it into their new place; it was just too big for their downsized home. I don't think I ever heard Mom play again after they moved, which was sad because she played beautifully.
Dad was talking about that piano, and about how he wants to have it restored and retuned. He isn't a big talker- he's not the kind of guy who will sit you down and tell you his whole life story in one sitting. He lets little gems slip out once in awhile though, and the back story behind the piano was one of those.
The story starts with him, right after he first moved to Paradise to work at the railroad. He was living in a little house on the property of my grandparents, right behind their family house. He said that after work he would sit outside his little house and listen to that piano playing inside the big house. He didn't know it yet, but it was my mom, her sister and her best friend in there. It sounded like they were having fun- being silly and rowdy. So, in a way, that piano was his first introduction to Mom, which for them was the most appropriate and perfect introduction I can think of. If there was ever a way to get his attention, is was through music (well, music or old cars, preferably of the model T variety). It probably also didn't hurt that when he actually met her, she was a beauty.
Neither one of my parents were very big talkers, but they were both musicians and that was no small part of the communication in their relationship. I remember them singing and playing together, Dad in the kitchen saying,"Hey Pat, what song is this?" and he'd start playing a song on his old Martin and singing (usually an old western) and soon she'd join in. They knew all the words to the same old songs, and they would harmonize with each other.
I have a mandolin hanging on my wall- a gift of long ago from my mom to my dad, one of the first gifts she ever gave him. They saved up for other instruments. Back in the sixties they spent three hundred dollars for my mom's accordion- a fortune for them in those days. It seems that whenever Dad shares a special memory about Mom, there is always music attached to it in some form. It was such an important part of their story.
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| ~Mom playing the piano at their wedding reception~ |
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