During one of our camping trips, I read a most poignant book by the journalist Gene Weingarten titled ‘The Fiddler in the Subway‘. A collection of stories about individuals the author has encountered during the course of his decades-long career, it’s full of insight into the human spirit- the sense of place that forms us, the realities that can tear us apart, and the optimism that propels us. I highly recommend it.
Admiring the lily pads of Seattle’s Arboretum.
And so this morning when I noticed a local Santa Cruz surf shop posted the following story and Youtube video, I took note. The subject of the piece, a violinist, is the same one depicted in Weingarten’s book. And his story, though only momentary and thoroughly lacking a plot line, resonates in the pit of the belly.
Simply titled, ‘Stop & Hear the Music’, have a look at the video while reading the brief story. Then tell me what you think. Or don’t. But let it rest with you.
I can be accused of making a good number of mistakes in my life and wasting time that will never be recaptured. But of all the things I’ve done and not done, my collective memories of discovering the world as a child and rediscovering it as a parent rank up there with the best of any of my choices.
Whether we were collecting worms, quacking like ducks or admiring busy birds building nests in the trees, my son and I went everywhere on foot when he was little, stumbling upon beauty and awe at every corner.
It’s true that today, many of our days are filled with the hectic bustle of commuting, deadlines, projects, swim lessons and hockey practice… and much more (I’m assuming your life, though different in detail, closely mimics my own in scale of responsibilities, so I needn’t bore you with ‘TMI’). Despite this, we still take the time to listen to the music (admittedly, he’s taken to listening in his headphones much of the time now), speak with strangers and admire the world.
When I feel like I’ve approached my limit- when I’m bogged down by the minutia of the day-to-day, I regroup. I take a brisk, long walk in the sun- putting away my cellphone to admire the plants and the air. I find solace in the nightly ritual of coming together with my 12 year old and my husband around the dinner table- sometimes much later than we would like, but always with the same sense of satisfaction that comes from slowing down and appreciating what you have. We always listen to one another. And sometimes, we listen to music.
bonnie boglioli randall 