MUSIC, MUSIC, MUSIC

Patsy and Aunt Gladys

No matter how I search for the words I need to express my feelings about  music and the bond that existed between Lalo and me because of my love and my necessity for it to form a very integral part of my existence, they just evade me.  Perhaps precisely because music is so important to me, the feelings regarding it and what they evoke cannot be written down.  Perhaps, if I could sing my feelings the intention would be clear.

            I cannot remember a time in my life when music was not paramount.  Some of my very first memories are those of sitting in a little rocking chair next to a Victrola, listening to jazz bands and their vocalists although, of course, at the time, I had no idea of the genre, only that the sounds were happy ones; or of falling asleep at night to the sound of my grandmother´s sweet renderings of Irish lullabies.  By two or three I was already standing on the bandstand of a club where my father or mother was appearing  —The Cave of the Winds, Russell’s Silver Bar, the Glass Hat at the Congress Hotel— singing my heart out. At my parent’s request, one of my aunts or uncles always saw to it that they could include me in their performance now and then.  So it isn’t hard to understand that the love of music became part of my children’s heritage; nor that, especially in the case of Eduardo, who chose to be musician, it was an increasingly important part of our relationship.

Tiny virtuoso?

            He was an especially gifted guitarist but eventually decided that he preferred to express himself on the violin, both classically and, later on, through interpretative renderings and composition.  There is a snap-shot of him at about age two playing a toy violin and he always teased me that had I given him a real violin at that age he could have become a virtuoso, therefore, I was responsible for stunting his creative growth.

            He delighted in teasing me about anything and looked for the possibility with gusto.  He was equally annoying to his sister, who would eventually become infuriated, at which time he would plead innocence of intentional malice and beg her forgiveness which she would usually, albeit grudgingly, concede.

            I cannot imagine life without him and yet it is now a reality, a very harsh reality.  People keep reminding me that I must accept “it”.  This causes me a great deal of incredulity at their understanding of life—I have no choice!!!!!

Patricia Bari Frew