Funerals and Memorials, pt. 4
My cousin John is an accomplished musician, both as a performer and as a composer. One distinct memory, he can sit at any keyboard, pluck, plink, then play a concert. If I recall, he’s composed and staged a modern opera along with other musical credits. At the restaurant Sapor, a somewhat derelict piano was tucked away.
He asked to play it, thinking it might be the original piano from when the upstairs was the Country Aire storefront, as that was the building’s previous iteration.
“I was, like, 12? 13? My first ‘job,’ I would play piano at lunch time, and it was just for tips, but it was pocket money, then.”
First paying gig, think it’s a sign?
Capricorn in San Antonio
Speaks to level that the Port Angeles family had this kind of affinity for music.
“I played there for three years. Mom really encouraged me.”
I think it was the piano, and therein is family connection.
Funerals and Memorials, pt. 4
My uncle in Dallas was memorialized, but much ink was spilled to eulogize his local efforts, historical, patriotic, community, and various philanthropies?
The high point, was the family dinner, just a light supper, and one of the distant cousins is a minister for congregation in a familiar West Texas town. Rather engaging as the moon played hide and seek with Mars choked in the clouds overhead, I adore people how have the spirit in them without being overtly evangelical. I admire the good stuff.
Then, seated just in front of us was a former First Lady replete with the requisite armed yet bland security detail. My own wee mum tried to converse, and the reply? “We’re Secret Service, ma’am.” Put the politics side, I admire those who serve.
The two brothers are gone. We’ve paid our respects, and now, we make our way forward through the lives left behind.
Funerals and Memorials, pt. 4
The longer the road, the more narrow the path.
