Sister Rose (rose_in_texas) wrote,
Sister Rose
rose_in_texas

Small World

Today I was home, so I spent a couple of blessed hours in an estate sale haze (in 97 degree temperatures!) One of the houses where I went obviously had previously belonged to classical music enthusiasts. The couple had various NPR pledge-drive paraphernalia that the heirs did not appreciate; books scattered throughout the house on "eight essential operas of the 20th century and similar reference material; eight-track tapes and VHS tapes of "great performances" as well as -- TA DA -- a big bin of classical music CDs marked for 50 cents apiece.

I tore through it, grabbing out every piano concerto available and stacking them in a selfish frenzy to one side, picking up $14 worth of CDs and arguing with the cashier when she tried to charge me $1 apiece instead of half that. ($14!!! I couldn't buy one CD new for that! And I argued with her about the price! Truly I feel shameless and yet somehow victorious.)/end digression

But I think the biggest find was a personal one.

Here in my hometown, a local charity sells CDs of local musicians playing Christmas music. Each year is different -- rock emphasis, church music emphasis, etc. The musicians donate their time; the studio donates its time; and money is raised to press the CDs. In the bin at the estate sale, I found one of those CDs from the year the emphasis was classic..

I once was involved with an early music group, wherein we played recorder renaissance music. We recorded one song for the charity -- a little ditty by Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov arranged for five-part recorder. I bought a HUGE STACK of those as family Christmas stocking-stuffers, so the charity got my time AND my money.

But somehow, I neglected to keep one back for myself.

Not long after my group recorded that single song, one of the members got divorced and moved to a different state, making rehearsals problematic. Another member died. A third member became more interested in guitar than recorder. Finally, it was just me and one man with whom I nothing else in common playing little duets, which was quite the letdown after our big ensemble. We drifted away and the group broke up with a whimper instead of a bang.

But finding that CD in the bin, playing it as a trip down memory lane and then wallowing in those memories has been a joy today.

I remember each intake of breath.

I remember that we only got three takes at the piece -- the studio could only give us an hour to record as its donation -- and that we ended up picking the ONLY STINKING TAKE in which I bobbled my particular trill, but everybody else sounded really good throughout and I gave in for the greater good. Blech!

I remember that I got to play soprano (we switched parts a lot).

I remember that the song we played, "Dance of the Tumblers," used to make me smile with its effervescence and speed.

And now I know that it makes me weep tears of joy and melancholy.


P.S. I also bought a set of wooden spoons. Much less fraught with emotional drama!
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