Oaks in Snow

I grew up in a yellow brick house in an emerald green town all shaded in the summer by giant oak trees. In the winter those same oaks stood out stark against snow and white sky. Here is a drawing I made of that house and those oaks and that snow and white sky.

Here is my song to go with the drawing, and the Saturdays of my youth.

Oaks in Snow (in B-flat major)

UPDATE: New music video recorded June 21, 2020

 

Listen to the whole album: Piano Music, Volume 1.

My father has always loved classical music. In the yellow brick house of my childhood my dad would play classical albums on the stereo. On Saturdays the music of Beethoven filled that house, yearning and triumphant.

Hopefully, I've captured a small piece of the yearning and the triumph. Thanks, Dad! Thanks, Beethoven! 

The Accompanist

We used to walk around the corner with the kids to visit Bev's parents. At these family gatherings the kids had great times with their grandparents and visiting uncles, aunts and cousins as well. It was the 1980s and I was a fan of George Winston's new age piano instrumentals. So I made up a song in that style on my father-in-law Bryan's piano. For all these years it has had no name. It's just my piano song in F major. I would play it every time we visited. I probably wore people out with repeated playing (sorry All!) but I think Bryan liked it. 

Now Bryan is gone, his life cut way too short by cancer. But the piano remains, a part of him left behind, right here in my own house for me to play whenever I want. 

The other day I asked Bev to take some photos of me playing the piano. So she got her camera and I started playing. I played my nameless song in F. I stopped and turned to see Bev looking shaken and emotional. A few moments earlier, with the afternoon sun streaming in through the west windows, Bev had a vivid sense of her father Bryan standing in the room, listening and watching, drawn to the sound of his old piano and to my playing.

And there's something more. The photos Bev took show my hands reflected in the glossy black finish of the raised keyboard cover. As I look at these photos, I wonder whose hands those are in the reflection? It is as if someone else's hands play a dimly reflected piano, accompanying my own. 

And now my song has a name.


The Accompanist (in F major)

UPDATE: New music video recorded June 21, 2020


Listen to the whole album: Piano Music - Volume 1.

The if-handed monster

Not left-handed, not right-handed. I'm the other one.

If I'm doing this particular activity then I'm a lefty, if I'm doing that particular activity then I'm a righty. So this must make me… if-handed? 

I'm not talking ambidextrous. Mostly it's one or the other rather than either.

But wait, there's more! My if-handedness is paired.

But even an oddity like me can be explained.  

First, I am mostly a lefty. Like all southpaws, I have grappled with right-handed scissors (my left hand lost that battle), right-side dials on wristwatches, right-sided mice and number pads on computers, and on and on. It is a cruel world.

Second, playing musical instruments is part of my story. I had ample opportunity and motivation to develop my "weaker" right hand as I learned to play piano and guitar.

Finally, it seems logical that once I was on this path it was natural to continue down it. Gradually, slowly, I became the if-handed monster that I am today.

Look away, I'm hideous!

One thing makes all the difference

I turned to take the photo of the throng of moms, dads and kids decorating themselves and their bicycles for a family Fourth of July parade and something struck me. 

There was one that made all the difference. Can you spot it? 

It's in the background but it covers the whole scene. It draws together all the parents and children and balloons and bikes and costumes. Click on the photo to study it really closely. Do you see it now?

Click or tap to look closer.

It is that giant old shade tree.

What's age got to do with it?

Nothing, that's what.

OK, sure, time goes by. Aging happens. But so what?

People say: "I must be getting old because I...can't remember, feel tired, weary, worn out, vision blurry, need a nap, can't stop yawning, rubbing eyes, dozing off, tossing, turning, restless night, can't focus, joints won't bend, muscles stiff, head is aching, sneezy, breathless, mopey, bored."

Not one of those things has to mean you're getting old. I felt all those things at 19. I feel better now.

My great nephew Braxton gets a backstage pass to see Graymatter at the Pittsboro Roadhouse. Click or tap to enlarge my happy feet (but you won't slow them down).