Not such a low note, afterall.

Last night, we went to a jazz concert, courtesy of my Southern man’s boss.  Such a very entertaining, talented bunch of artists.  I’ve always loved saxophones and trumpets–there is a silver trumpet solo on a Christmas album I have that gives me goosebumps.  Then there were the drums, piano, electric guitar, tubas–just really a great band.  Last, but not least, were the trombones.

A few years back, our family–meaning parents, siblings and families, were all down in Boston.  Dad loved getting and having all of us together.  He also loved food.  So, naturally, our get-together was at a restaurant.  It was a brunch and quite a spread!  They also had a few musicians strolling throughout the dining room.  One was a trombone player.

As I sat listening to the band, last night, a particularly low note was hit by a tuba or trombone–you know, the kind that is almost reminiscent of…ummm…you know…flatulence.  That note brought the memory of that brunch back to mind–not because of gas, but because that note was one that Dad got to hear almost right in his ear.

We were all sitting at the tables, having a great time, when the musicians came up behind Dad, who was completely unaware of their arrival.  That is, until the trombone player put the slide all the way out, right next to Dad’s head, and blew that deep, vibrating note.  We all cracked up, including Dad.

So, last night, when I caught the sound of that note coming from one of the trombones or tubas, that memory flooded my thoughts and brought a smile to my face.  I turned to my Southern man and asked him if he remembered the trombone player that time with Dad;  a big smile came to his face as he nodded.

Tomorrow will be one year since Dad left us and went to his true home.  We miss him, terribly, but the happy memories are starting to come back to us more easily, I think.  My sister confirmed this with a story about her two older children this past week.  When one of them said she missed Grandpa and then sighed, instead of the usual follow-up about heaven and so on, the other child busted out laughing and said, “Do you remember the time Grandpa….”

Sometimes, children can be such the teachers and leaders, can’t they.  That whole “out of the mouths of babes” thing.  At times, they can be so much wiser than us adults, even in their innocence.

Tomorrow is a milestone and a day that has been in the back of all our minds, even my children, as it’s drawn nearer.  Rather than sit around, allowing ourselves to be engulfed with thoughts of sadness and longing, we’re getting out of the house to do SOMEthing.  Make some new, happy memories.  That’s what Dad would want, I’m sure.  That and a really good meal.

Love and miss you, Dad.


About rebelwife

New England wife of a Southern man relocated back to Alabama.
This entry was posted in Family, Humor, Life, Music and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Not such a low note, afterall.

  1. Shane Bates says:

    Jules, you really have a gift for this blogging thing. I don’t know if it’s writing or story telling but it’s good nonetheless.


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