I love music.

I write about the music I like and have purchased for the benefit of better understanding it and sharing my preferences with others.


Tonight I played a piece of music on the piano, and the harmony and timbre of notes at one point brought me back (in the recesses of my brain) to a time when I was visiting my grandmother's apartment. salem.jpg Yes, it had been some time since I'd thought of that place. I found it on the Google. Located there, in the picture, is grandma's apartment building, and even the place to the right, where we'd park. Once, someone siphoned gas out of her tank. The memory was connected to a smell that the place had; I equated it with an old-person's smell. So many older people lived there, she called it "raisin row," referring to her fellow tenants who were ripe in age. What I remembered especially was how if you went to the basement level, you could connect with the adjacent building, which was even stronger in its smell, but the carpet and interior had different colors. Hers was blue, I think the other one was color-themed "green." She lived on the second floor. I don't remember the number, but I could still find it, I'm sure of it. Once, walking from the street parking, to the front door, I was carrying a clock toy I'd been given. Walking up, I'd dropped it, and being made of plastic, it fell apart. It was broken. I was so upset, I cried and cried. She'd hoped some friend of hers, a man named Rudy, could fix it; at least I held onto the hope that he could. My grandmother later moved out of Raisin Row, and moved in with us, after we'd moved away to another town. But what I remember, too, before, was the time she said goodbye to her friend Martha. Martha lived downstairs, and had called my grandmother, telling her she didn't feel well. My grandmother told her on the phone that she'd check in on her later, after her soap opera was over on the television. When she called an hour later, Martha didn't pick up the phone. She let herself into Martha's apartment, and found her cold in her bed. Martha was dead. We later got Martha's electric broom to use since her daughter gave it to my grandmother. That's what is still in my head. I think it's pretty cool you can visit your childhood home (and see the hospital you were born in) without having to actually go there. Too bad they don't have "Street View" there. It's when I think about how long ago that all was that I realize now how old I am. Savor life and its opportunities. And when a friend calls, don't put them on hold. It might be too late.

Concerto Köln: Handel's Water Music

Richmond Folk Festival