How ironic that my one-hundredth posting is entitled 'Wistful'.
My brain had settled on the title before logging on and I did not remember or note from my previous posting that this one would be number one hundred. I do not think the title selection is in any way, accidental. Kismet brought me to the word, wistful.
Because I'm always searching for, and on the lookout for, the coincidences in my world, the coinciding of a landmark blog posting for me and a look back (hence, the word wistful) in time, is, indeed, a coincidence of great personal magnitude.
What triggered this? A ballade by Frederick Chopin.
As I was driving this morning, listening to my favorite classical public radio station, the morning host announced that the next selection was a Chopin Ballade. The track began and so did my memories.
Years ago, our home was graced by two pianos that routinely received vigorous workouts of a classical and jazz nature. Our household was fortunate to have space to have the duet of instruments positioned far enough apart that two pianists could practice simultaneously. How I loved hearing the notes fly through time and space. Occasionally, a pounding of frustration could be heard, but, for the most part, the practice sessions were music to my ears. I can't remember which one of my children performed this particular Chopin piece, but, as I recall, it was performed for a piano competition and the competitor impressed the judges enough to be selected a finalist, thereby winning a monetary award. Both of my children were blessed with a musical gift from God that I never tired of listening to. The day that only one piano was needed and one was sold was a sad day, indeed, marking a passage of time that meant that children were growing up and leaving the nest. Today our beautiful grand gets used periodically, but never exercised as it used to be, nor deserves to be.
Which brings me to the wistful part of posting number one hundred.
Just like my piano, our children have grown, have families of their own, and lives to live. I guess I could say they have moved on but that part of me has not. Perhaps that is a natural part of parenting - holding on to the memories and feeling wistful from time to time. Memories are the fabric that keeps me connected to loved ones that are either a distance away or a universe away.
I think I'll go tickle the ivories of my piano and bring the memories to life, if only for a moment.
Ancora imparo
