Saturday, November 06, 2010

Bach at Eight

It was the 1950's.  Anchorage Alaska.  Mom and dad often left 8 year old me home while they did whatever they did away from home.  During the time in Alaska our family was poor as church mice.  After everything was bought and paid for there was little left for entertainment, clothing. . . . the so called extras in life.  If you have a shirt on your back buying another is an extra . . . at least so I was taught at an early age.

Salmon was a cheap commodity.  Caught locally.  Lots of it.  It was what's for dinner 5 or 6 nights a week.  Salmon burgers.  Salmon meatloaf.  Salmon spaghetti.  Salmon sandwiches.  You name it mom put salmon in it.  For some a steady diet of salmon would be wonderful.  For the rest of us . . . bleck!   

Even though money was tight Mom and dad bought a tall wooden framed a radio.   I was ususally playing throughout the day and into the night especially during the times I was home alone.  The radio was actually nice company.    Usually I'd be outside playing with friends but during stormy weather or in the evening it was best to be inside.  Reading, listening to the (there were like 2 stations---FM had not yet been invented), playing with toys . .. building stuff out of scrap wood and cardboard. . . all occupied my time alone. 

It was during one of these Bob All Alone At Eight Years of Age times that a classical piece of music was played that struck my fancy.  I thought it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard.....something that I would always enjoy hearing regardless of how old I was.

It goes like this:


La Roo said...

This is beautiful. Sometimes I listen to classical music when I paint. It really takes me to a different place .....a peaceful focused place.
Is that what it did for you?
Thanks for sharing.
Didn't you also live in the mid-west as a child?

Bob said...

I started out in the mid west but was transplanted at an early age by step daddy to California then on to Alaska and then back to California. Would have liked to have stayed in Nebraska and been a life long corn husker.

weeder said...

My mother grew up dirt poor in a small town town of coastal Nova Scotia, Canada. Instead of salmon, they ate lobster. Lobster for breakfast, lobster for lunch and lobster for supper. Even today she can't stand the sight of lobster.

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