Through Open Windows | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Through Open Windows | Previous Challenge Entry
By Darryl Nicholson
08/29/06
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When I was a boy, I had never heard of air conditioning. When it was
hot we opened the windows. Breezes would enter at will, ruffling the
curtains and carrying the scent of newly mown grass, and leave with
the aroma of baking bread or spaghetti sauce simmering on the
stove. It was a portal through which passed much more than light
alone. Through those open windows wafted the smells and sounds of
life.

Today, it seems, the desire for privacy is justification
for isolation but then it was usually reserved for private things
and the overflow of life's details and trivialities enriched the
fabric of childhood.

If I close my eyes I can imagine myself strolling, once
more, with my grandmother on a summer's eve. As we pass by the
homes along the way we hear low conversation, laughte,r or a radio
playing over the throb and chatter of katydids and bullfrogs.
Snatches of drama slow our steps, the incorrigible Bobby Skerstonis
receiving yet another paddling, Billy Zimmerman protesting his
bath. I hurry on, putting such horrors from my mind.

Some houses are dark and quiet, the family off visiting perhaps or
maybe moved away. Then from over the hill, drift the first faint
notes of a piano. As the road climbs we hear rhythm then voices and
finally, when we crest the hill, the melody.

I remember a lot of piano music, some soft and delicate, some hard
and bone-jarring. The piano players were as varied as the music:
from my Sunday school teacher swaying gracefully, her fingers
barely touching the keys, to my second grade teacher banging out a
march, feet peddling while her left hand stabbed, claw-like, at the
chords. Whenever the need arose someone could usually be
conscripted to man the keys although the results did not always
meet expectations.

I remember one Halloween party when a piano player was needed for
a game of musical chairs. The volunteer drew considerable applause
when he stepped from the crowd, but the enthusiasm soon waned as he
proceeded to play, standing up, foot tapping, all the while
grinning over his shoulder to catch the action when he stopped. The
problem was that he seldom stopped and he seldom hit more than
three out of five keys correctly.

I remember melodies besides "Three Blind Mice" repeated
fifty times as we inched around the dwindling cluster of chairs.
There was "Knick-Knack-Pattywhack" and "Itsy Bitsy Spider" in first
grade. John Philip Sousa marches, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" later, "My
Country Tis of Thee", and the old church Hymns.

My Mom would sing sometimes when she didn't think anyone was listening, no words just "La te da. Lum ta tum." My
grandmother would sing to herself too, doing a wonderful Edith Bunker impersonation, years before the character was invented.

All the old melodies of my childhood, the memories are
fond now, but at the time I didn't like most of them. I liked "Que
Sera Sera", and "Scarlet Ribbons" but most of them bored me.

My favorite cartoon character was Mighty Mouse. I would
charge across the yard with a bath towel cape streaming out behind
me bellowing, "Here I come to save the day!" in my best
operatic baritone. After that it was "Davy, Davy Crocket, king of
the wild frontier." I've chased imaginary outlaws sporting a mask
and white cowboy hat, burning caps and humming the William Tell
Overture. I learned all the words to "Wyatt Erp, brave courageous
and bold." Later I liked bebop, later still the Beatles, their early
stuff. Actually I have "Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
tomorrow I'll miss you," playing in my head right now.

For me it pretty much went down hill after the sixties.
Some people play music continually to chase away the silence but I
think music has to be pretty good to improve on silence.

I learned to play the guitar in my late forties and I
appreciate music more now. Sometimes my wife, Jan, and I play and sing
together at nursing homes or different churches. Serving the Lord
is the best music of all.

These are the melodies of my life. The other night I
punched up an old cowboy tune on the computer. Jan said,
"That's kind of catchy." I held out my hand and we danced. I
know it was out of character for me and the windows were open
but who cares.

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