continued Years later, my daughters tried their hand at music. One was outstanding at the piano; another liked to sing. We visited Syracuse Home on New Years’ Day, our own little Von Trapp Family. Not everyone is comfortable volunteering to do something like that, but it worked for me. My kids didn’t always feel at ease, as was the case for me when my dad dragged me along. But I wanted them to know what life was like for some seniors, and for the infirm, and for those who were separated from family and friends by medical necessity or life circumstances.
I had a poignant moment at the farm store a couple years ago. A woman in a wheelchair shopped around for a while, and then stopped right in front of me. She insisted that she knew me and that she had heard me play violin. I didn’t recognize her, and I couldn’t think of where she and I might both have been. She said I had visited her nursing home. I could only think of the one in B’ville, but she kept saying that wasn’t it. We finally figured out that she had recuperated from surgery at St. Luke’s in Oswego, 30 years prior - a place my dad visited. Mystery solved, she thanked me for playing and I went away humbled. How odd that our paths should cross, after so many years. And that she would remember me from those early Twinkle days, when I was so painfully shy and sometimes wanted to quit playing.
I had tea with a friend in the village this week. She was fuming over an acquaintance who had not visited her mother (who lives in a nursing home) during Thanksgiving. Workers at the home had told her that her mom was all dressed up, suitcase packed, sitting on the edge of her bed most of the day. Still, she did not bring her out to be with the family. She felt, apparently, that it would be too much inconvenience; the mother might have an accident, or speak out of turn, or do something awkward.