Strumming to himself

Several years ago, for his 75th and final birthday, John was given a tape made from some old wire recordings my Grandfather, Papa, used to send back and forth to my Mother and her sister in the late 40’s. Recorded “letters”, an innovation - and Papa loved whatever was the latest thing. George had sent me one earlier and it was so strange listening to my parents as young kids in their twenties, sounding so well, young. I was in my late forties then and felt like I was the parent, listening to those youthful voices from the past. So there on the couch sat Uncle John with the cassette player to his ear listening intently, tears streaming down his face, smiling and crying at the same time, a beautiful heartfelt moment and an awesome gift. Later in the afternoon, while the young people were setting up the BBQ and milling around outside, Uncle John was playing his guitar on the sofa alone. Playing quietly, so totally immersed in the music and oblivious to us all was a lesson in inner peace. When he was young, his musical ability gave his quiet personality a foothold in social gatherings. His talent came naturally, for he had an ear for music. During family get-togethers, he loved to take a seat at the piano or organ and play without “performing." Like delighting in a happy child at play, we all sang along and shared in his pleasure. He always seemed at ease, naturally funny and loveable. He’d be there at gatherings, his single glass of wine in hand, chortling after making his standard toast – “Here’s to our wives and lovers – may they never meet!”