Three Brief Stories

I
We have the post-Christmas cold. I say we because Ann has it, and John, and Charlie. This morning I went to church for a while and learned that folks there have it, too. But I have come home early to rest and maybe even sleep away this cold virus. That is my hope.

Just now I am listening to Cesar Franck, his violin sonata, a simple piece of music in that it is only the violin and piano, and very soothing to me.

II
Speaking of music. when we were all here together Christmas morning, I said to Aaron, "This note I'm about to sing, I believe it's a D." I sang it. He said, "Hmmm. No. You're flat. It's a D-flat," went to the piano and played a D-flat.

So, big deal. I was close.

III
And speaking of the violin.

Christmas night Charlie asked if he could play the violin, the one that has been in my basement for more than a decade. He loves to play it. I said no last Sunday because there were too many kids here, and the instrument could suffer, I thought.

Monday I finally did what I've thought to do for many months: took it in for repairs--four new strings and a new bow--which will cost much more than I paid for the violin initially. But I want it to be in good repair so that Charlie gets a true idea of the violin. Yes, I know, this one, although it is about 1/2 size, is too big for him, but he'll get a sense of it. It should be finished some time in early January.

So, on Christmas night I explained to Charlie that the violin was not here. "Why?" he asked, verging on tears.

"I took it to the violin shop to get fixed."

"Why?"

"The bow doesn't have much hair on it and it doesn't tighten, and strings are missing from the violin. When I get it back it will be all fixed. For you."

Silence. Thoughtful silence. Unconvinced silence.

"So it isn't here right now, Charlie."

"Well," face crumbling into crying, "could I play with your tape measure then?"

"Yes. You could." And glad I was that it was still here.