Grandma Ingrid taught me how to Fox Trot. She had an organ in her 1920's all-white sitting room. She used to play all sorts of music for us, but the Fox Trot was her favorite. Sometimes we would dance to the Laurence Welk show bands. She remembered all the moves.
I never saw Grandma in anything other than high heel shoes; the break your neck kind. She would dance in them better than anyone I knew. She even had a pair that were clear like glass slippers; I wonder if a prince gave them to her.
"Stephie" she said one time, "I used to dance at this place in Arizona called the Toad Bar. I really know how to shake it." She paused as she grabbed my hands and we twisted on the spot.
I never saw Grandma in anything other than high heel shoes; the break your neck kind. She would dance in them better than anyone I knew. She even had a pair that were clear like glass slippers; I wonder if a prince gave them to her.
"Stephie" she said one time, "I used to dance at this place in Arizona called the Toad Bar. I really know how to shake it." She paused as she grabbed my hands and we twisted on the spot.
"Sometimes they would ask me to play a fast Fox Trot on the organ. I was the only one who could play fast enough without making any mistakes." She told me this as she sat down at the organ and began to play.
I was in awe as I watched her fingers move over the keys as fast as her feet could in any dance (even despite the high heels). She laughed as she played. This was the happiest I ever saw Grandma Ingrid.
She played and sang for me songs from her memories and I wonder if, as the sun set over Lake Charlotte, if others could hear her playing? Would they know how happy she was? Were they happy to hear her play, or was the music like a ghost over the water?
"Grandma, show me how to play like you?"
She helped me on the seat and let my fingers repeat the notes she played, but I was never that fast. Her fingers would soon take over and loose themselves in the song.
Once she finished playing and with a fading smile she said "I never learned how to read music. Just like your dad I can only play by ear."
I remember her sitting there at the organ and she looked eternal. She was a perfect preservation of former happiness; but the sun was setting behind her and the light was fading from the window. The white furniture in the room was blushing from the final pink light of the sun.
My mom came up stairs, "Stephanie, get your things. It's time to go home."
Grandma got up from the organ and the moment was forgotten. She walked us out to the car with a wave goodbye and a warning to watch out for the dip in the road. "It might be washed out from the rain this afternoon" She said.
The silence left by the organ was replaced by the endless bullfrog croaks. It was mating season for the bullfrogs. They were doing their own Fox Trot.
I was in awe as I watched her fingers move over the keys as fast as her feet could in any dance (even despite the high heels). She laughed as she played. This was the happiest I ever saw Grandma Ingrid.
She played and sang for me songs from her memories and I wonder if, as the sun set over Lake Charlotte, if others could hear her playing? Would they know how happy she was? Were they happy to hear her play, or was the music like a ghost over the water?
"Grandma, show me how to play like you?"
She helped me on the seat and let my fingers repeat the notes she played, but I was never that fast. Her fingers would soon take over and loose themselves in the song.
Once she finished playing and with a fading smile she said "I never learned how to read music. Just like your dad I can only play by ear."
I remember her sitting there at the organ and she looked eternal. She was a perfect preservation of former happiness; but the sun was setting behind her and the light was fading from the window. The white furniture in the room was blushing from the final pink light of the sun.
My mom came up stairs, "Stephanie, get your things. It's time to go home."
Grandma got up from the organ and the moment was forgotten. She walked us out to the car with a wave goodbye and a warning to watch out for the dip in the road. "It might be washed out from the rain this afternoon" She said.
The silence left by the organ was replaced by the endless bullfrog croaks. It was mating season for the bullfrogs. They were doing their own Fox Trot.
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