I stand to the right of my mom as she sits at the piano. Her slender hands with beautiful long, polished nails are poised over the keys, ready to accompany me. My bow is rosined, we've turned the page, in unison we begin a new piece. One of my favourites because I have it down pat and don't have to really work at it. I can soar and use the whole bow, all the finger positions, make the violin sing while mom deftly follows my lead in timing, then corrects me when I get too exhuberant, going too fast. We climb all of the crescendos to the last measure, ending with a sigh of contentment from making beautiful music together and, also, from my making it all the way to the end without making any glaring mistakes. Her patience knows no bounds in encouraging her children in musicmaking.

I have been so immersed in folk music for the past almost three years, reconnecting with it, from childhood, my sister and my dad, that I'd almost lost sight of how much classical music means to me and how much it has always been a part of my life, from before those early practice sessions and beyond.

Tonight I happened to turn on PBS and caught the last few bars of a piece mom and I used to play together. I can't remember the name of it and my book is in storage, but it was one of my favourites.

It caught my breath, brought instant tears, and that same sense of wonder and reverence I used to feel when listening to or playing classical pieces; and, it made me miss my mom, again. I shall go to sleep tonight with its shining bright refrains in my ear, singing to me from across the way, reaching out from my heart of longing to my mom now gone. While I am sad that we will never be able to practise together, again, I am grateful for this rekindling.

If you have the chance to make music with your loved ones, please do, esp. the older ones.

kat