Keys Resound...

In passing, I saw Mozart, Beethoven, and Bach all trying their hand, but they were in far off lands in times long past. Now it's the street players, the eager experimenters - the shy traveler - or the energetic child that touch these keys. Keys humming - humming in my mind, anticipating hands to play upon white and black. Stationary and refined with wood structure - wheels to guide music across streets. Waiting.

The days of classical teaching forgotten - the school room abandoned - each note resonating in mind. An instrument left to be touched; to be played if even one person would strike a note. Sitting on angled cement made the sound more prominent - prominent and silent.

They pass without playing. Yet every now and then there is a Master - the master of sound and rhythm who takes a chance to sit at my bench and perform. Perform for the world around them - for anyone willing to listen - for no one to listen and merely for the pleasure of creating sound. Hand to keys and the chords touch hammer to string echoing a resounding voice through buildings and trees - businessmen walking to lunch, homeless panhandling on the streets - the Master plays to change the view of the day. Moving in routine - a new sight seen. Music fills the streets and a painting consumes their ears.

Each key is waiting. Waiting for a hand to push the ivory white bones to life. Two hands to play the soft keys and breath. But for now the keys are humming - humming with anticipation. Waiting for the next adventurer to take the challenge and play.

Find the Instagram photo that inspired this short bit of writing by following @chadosaurus (click on name to see photo).

How do you play?

Recently, I've been asked quite a bit, "What do you do for fun?"

The true response would be, "I play with words." But I don't think most people would understand this. It's more than reading a good book at the coffee shop in the sun. It's more than sitting at home with either pen and paper or computer for my writing.

I play with words daily through my conversations with people. Twisting and turning word definitions, the context of a conversation, and placing cultural signifiers into a game of:
"Did You REALLY Just Say THAT!"

Let me give you an example from last night:

Me: (Asking one of the various questions I have running through my head every second.)
Josh: (Answered without actually answering the question.)
Me: (Silent and contemplative.)

Josh: "I like it when you're QUIET."

Me: (Laughing hysterically.)

You had to be there.

But yeah, I play with words.

Dance...

Life is good when a walk becomes a dance. The paced motion escalating, building to the uncontrollable action of head bobbing, feet pass the traditional straight line, hands gesturing to music that begs your feet to tap and your mouth to smile as preteens turn their heads on their way home from school and stare at the crazy adult who doesn't have a care in the world.

It's a good day when you can make a kid laugh. Really make them laugh, make them mimic your actions. They think they're laughing at you, and if they are, Who cares? Really laughing at life and realizing it's all about having a good time is the best.

Why not have fun? Why be so composed? Give me the sounds of old school big band swing music and I can't stop myself, I have to dance no matter where I am or who I'm near. More people should do this. Stand up and dance. Dance for blue skies, dance for the cup of coffee that gives you the energy to go through the day, dance for whatever reason you want. Just dance. Feel the body sway and see how your mode changes. Tell me you don't feel a bit out of place. Tell me that awkward emotion doesn't make you laugh. Dance and everything--all stress and frustration--washes away.

Today is a good day.

Nonna...

 

She's been on my mind a lot this month.

I wore her dress to the Utah Arts Festival annual Masquerade Party. It's an "Original Peggy Hunt" design. One of my favorite parts of the evening (besides everyone asking me where I got my dress) was twirling in circles to the last song played of the evening, watching the chiffon spin delicately in soft circles around my feet and smiling at the thought she would be happy the dress had another night out on the town.

I used her purse as well. And as I arrived home and pulled everything from its pockets, I came across her name. Her personalized mirror rested in my hand, and I wondered what woman she saw when she looked at her reflection.

As much as I am happy to have learned from my Nonna how to make cuppolettie, the proper way to make and measure pasta, the essentials of family cuisine, why butter is good for you (it has vitamin A people), and the mean skills of playing solitaire; there is so much I wish I would have asked her.

I wish I would have asked how she felt spinning in that dress? Did she spin in that dress? As I know she went to many dances but rarely danced due to her early battle with polio. How did she feel being a woman of her time? Did she ever feel lonely? What brought the sparkling smile to her face? What would always make her laugh? And did she have a treat that was her guilty pleasure? What were her thoughts as she drifted off to sleep? What did she dream about and why?

What were her dreams?

I feel as though the young woman in these photos could answer many of the questions I have today about her life. And maybe the answers would help guide me on my own path of discovery. Why it never occurred to me in my youth to ask as this woman was pinching my chubby cheeks in welcome makes me wish I had a time machine.

A time machine that would spin me to a destination where I could watch my Nonna smile in her dress. A time machine that would let me hear her laughter and witness the people stare as she twirled on the dance floor (because polio or not, that dress demanded a bit of fun twirling).

Oh how I wish...

Instead I stare and reflect in her mirror for a bit and cherish all the memories with her.

A big huge thank you to my Mom for taking the time to scan all our families old photos so that we can view them whenever we like.