Thoughts On An October Morning
I woke up later than usual. It was 6:30. The house was still dark. Picasso slept in Kelly’s room last night. Here was my chance to have my tea on my usurped armchair, while I could. I wrapped myself up in my old warm and fuzzy dressing gown and sleepily trundled downstairs. I poured some tea into a mug and headed back to our bedroom. I switched on the radio and the lamp on top of the bookshelf. Sweet classical music streamed into the room and wrapped itself around me. I settled in my chair, sipped my tea and looked out the window. Ever so slowly, the sky lightened, first tingeing pink and then turning to a bluish grey. The music and the sky gave me a melancholy feeling, not a sad melancholy but a poignant one. It seems to me that ever since I was an infant, classical music had been embedded in me. It was always there. It is my father’s gift to my siblings and myself. It is a part of us.
As I listen, I lean my head back against the chair and let my mind wander. Throughout the years this music has encouraged me and comforted me. At a very difficult time in my life, many years ago, a late summer night, I was feeling despair. We were having marital problems. We lived in Tehran then. The house was silent. My little children were asleep. I was the only one awake. My tears silently streamed down my cheeks. I remember admonishing myself. “Enough! How are tears going to help you?” I told myself. I got up and played Handel’s Water Music on the record player and leaned back and listened. My old faithful clock ticked away in accompaniment, as did the sound of the water from the mountain streams rushing down the jubes alongside the trees each side our narrow street. I leaned back against my chair then, as I am doing now. I closed my eyes and listened. Gradually, I calmed down and gained strength from the soothing familiar sounds that I loved.
During that same difficult period, but at a different season, on a snowy winter day, I had just come home. As I got out of my car, I noticed a little twig had half broken off a tree by the house. It was encased with snow. I gently pulled it off, brushed the snow from it. I took it home. I placed it in a vase of warm water and willed it to survive. It did. By spring, it budded and produced leaves. It was a survivor. It inspired me to keep going. Whenever I go through a difficult time in my life, I remember that little twig, some forty-six or so years ago. Somehow, whenever I think of it, the classical music is there as well, the Water Music. That piece denotes hope and courage to me.
I remember my bachelor Uncle Eddie suffering a stroke one Thanksgiving. Uncle Albert, Peter, and I went to his apartment because he was not answering his phone. Uncle Albert had been calling him over and over. He got worried. So all three of us went to make sure that all was well. It was not. We found him on his bathroom floor, not able to move or speak. After a stay in the hospital, he was transferred to rehab. He was much better by then. Peter and I went to visit him on a regular basis. During the Christmas season, on a snowy afternoon, we went to see him. We helped him into a wheelchair. Everything was cheerful and homey for the season. There were Christmas trees and decorations throughout the building. Christmas carols were playing over the intercom. We pushed him up and down the corridors. My uncle, who was another classical music aficionado, loved the atmosphere. Living alone, he was very lonely. Here he was able to interact with people all the time. As we strolled along, he suddenly broke out into song in French. I cannot remember which Christmas carol he sang. He had a beautiful voice and a joyous one. Doors began to open, and heads peeked out. Soon he had a long line of people following him. There were more wheelchairs, nurses, family, all singing with him. I will never forget the smile on his face, the look of delight; the happy lilt in his voice.
He eventually became well enough to be moved into assisted living in Glen Cove. He had his own apartment sans a kitchen. There was a dining room downstairs. Volunteers always came to perform as the elderly ate. In his apartment, he played his Beethoven and read his Voltaire to his heart’s content. He was happy there. He interacted with the people there. I think he was the happiest he had been in a very long time. He lasted a bit over a year, perhaps two. He had never married nor had children of his own. He had a multitude of nieces and nephews whom he loved and who loved him back. We were all there for him until the end. It comforts me that he did not die alone. Thanks to Uncle Albert, we found him before it was too late. He was a sweet, loving man. I always wished that he had married, nor had his own family, then he wouldn’t have led such a lonely life. Thanks to Uncle Albert’s anxious telephone call, we found him before it was too late that fateful day. As much as we all loved him, we were not able to be with him all the time.
In my memory, I lastly go back further in time. I go back to a time when I was a wee little girl. I remember my father standing in front of the bathroom mirror. In front of him, he had his chased silver shaving bowl filled with warm water. In his hand, he held a matching shaving brush laden with shaving cream. As he lathered his face, he sang at the top of his voice. “Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!” the song sprung out of his throat triumphantly. I stood by his side, patiently waiting for him to give me a ‘shave’ as well. ‘’Figaro! Figaro! Figaro,’’ he sang once more, as he bent down and put two huge dollops of shaving cream, one on the tip of my nose and the other on my chin. I still smile at that memory.
Yes, one can say that classical music accompanied me throughout my life, and I love it. So many of my memories have music attached to them…