When I arrived at Journeys (my mom's Friendship Haven memory-care unit) last Tuesday, my mom was sitting on her bed, reading a picture book.
The black-out curtains were pulled, and I realized she'd only recently awakened from her after-lunch nap. She was happy to see me and to let me read the book aloud to her.
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As I warmed into her space, I shared my children's photos and videos of the previous week. I'd hoped she would enjoy Roger (almost 3 months) laughing, but she was unsettled. "Is he laughing or crying?" I tried to assure her he was laughing, but it seemed moving on to the next photo was our best option.
I suggested we move to the patio. I'd jammed a key on my big accordion last weekend, so I made do with my tiny 12-bass. This little Ballerini is the instrument I first bought on an E-bay auction on New Year's Eve 2000, and which I usually keep in my classroom to play "Happy Birthday" and "For He/She/They's a Jolly Good Fellow" on demand.
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I am not sure any of the residents or aides that gathered in our shaded spot knew or cared that I was playing on a half-pint version of the Squeezebox I'd brought the week before. Come to think of it, no one has yet to comment on a hard-practiced diminished chord or deft jump from F to E.
Six years into learning to play the accordion, it seems there is not a lot of difference between a song played well, so-so, or not very well. Listeners do seem to appreciate a familiar melody, but beyond that: Who cares?
On Tuesday I played: Who cares?
Enough.
<3 Allison
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| Another good day. |
