Ep. 25: White Christmas

One morning last week, as I walked back and forth between the kitchen and the breakfast bar, Mr. Kindly said hello and asked me a question.
"Emily, do you have a copy of White Christmas?"
"Umm...like a recording?"
"No, the sheet music. Look in my cart over there."

There, in the drawer of his walker, was a faded paper copy of White Christmas. Copyright 1942. Freshly printed in the middle of WWII. Irving Berlin plinked it out himself. Bing Crosby made it famous. Mr. Kindly bought a copy and wrote his name in neat, swirling cursive across the front. He used to play piano himself before arthritis and stiff fingers. Now he was gifting me his own copy.

A "thank you" didn't seem like quite enough. "I'll have to play it for you sometime."
"I would like that," he smiled. Perhaps he was thinking of all the times he's played it himself. Memories of snowfall and kids at home and playing Santa Claus. And how he's giving away a piece of that. He is called Mr. Kindly for good reason.

Just before Bingo that day, I went out in the lobby and played through the song on the baby grand that sits there. Mr. Kindly came wandering in, so I played one more time while he sang quietly nearby.

It was a sweet moment, an oasis in what has been a rough year.

And I think, how I want to be like Mr. Kindly when I grow up.

Episode 13: Musical Themes

for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)


Picture the scene: an entryway flanked by tall white pillars, double doors opening to a wide ballistraded staircase, comfortable couches pulled up near a gleaming grand piano. The mysterious, mellow sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata are floating through the air as a volunteer pianist gives it her best amateur tinkling of the keys. Someone yawns theatrically. Perhaps that's to be expected of elderly people in the boondocks of Minnesota trying to digest classical music. Then in the midst of a melody that calls up images of mist over a full moon, someone makes an announcement to her neighbor, and loudly. "I didn't come here for this kind of music."

Um, you're welcome?

Some people are always ungrateful. It's a lifestyle, nearly.