This is day three of the Wynn Price catalogue. I have been working on a song I’ve done with field recordings I took from Panguitch, Utah. I have come up with an arsenal of sounds and songs I’ll be posting for the 365. Admittedly, with all this traveling, I’ve been able to get a few days ahead because of all the fortuitous meetings I’ve had with people. I arranged another song with my dad while I was home.
This is one of the first songs to which I remember memorizing all the words. I even remember being taught it in music class in elementary school. I have a hard time remember words, but I remember these! I played the mandolin on this song (since my dad has one). Though the mandolin and the violin have the same tuning, and I feel I have no excuse, I don’t know how to play it that well. It’s a hard instrument for me to play.
Jonathan and I returned this morning at 2 am from Utah. The burial of Jon’s dad, Thomas Cecil Clark, took place yesterday morning in Panguitch, Utah. It was so hard and sad… but happy at the same time: remembering all he was and all he symbolizes. Because it was in Panguitch, as his dad requested, Jonathan was able to take me to Red Canyon and Bryce Canyon. So beautiful. I will post a few pictures later today. As Jonathan and I flew home, I realized we had become that couple on the plane you see who sit really close together and whisper quietly. I have seen couples like this before, sitting very close. There are times when I’ve, very rudely, mentally rolled my eyes and thought, “Get a room.” But maybe they were coming home from burying one of their parents, too. Maybe I shouldn’t have judged them so quickly and harshly. As a person who currently has both her parents still living, it’s hard for me to fully grasp the surreal nature of losing a parent who was close, who was so influential. All I can do is hold his hand and hug him all the time. So, on the plane, that’s what I did, not realizing at first that we had become the couple on the plane I had seen. I thought back to all the times I had flown. I wondered, “How many of those people had just returned from burying someone they loved?”
I do remember one time when I was flying home to Pittsburgh from Salt Lake City. A young woman got on the plane, sat down immediately across the aisle from me and immediately got on the phone before take-off. I could hear her talking about a grandfather and funeral arrangements. When the plane was up in the air I looked over after a while and, in the darkness, I could see her, head in her hands, crying. What an odd experience for me, though I might be construed as the eaves-dropper: interrupting her private moment, subtly, with my eyes and ears. I guess I never thought that girl across the aisle would be me, and, last night, it was.
Sending you lovely thoughts for a hopefully lovely day.
A Bicycle Built for Two