Nite Mirror (nitemirror) wrote,
Nite Mirror

I was running late this morning. So out the door in a hurry with a travel mug of coffee and a bag of garbage. I turn toward the alley to get rid of the garbage before going to my folks' house. My foot finds a patch of ice and down I go. The garbage slides down the walk as my left arm swings out automatically to brace myself for the impending impact. That arm smacks into the ground and absorbs the impact of the fall. My right arm, at the end of which is a cup of coffee, is flailing every which way in a futile attempt at keeping my equilibrium. In the process and despite being in a travel mug, coffee is showering down on top of me. The small drinking hole in the mug is now acting like one of those shaker lids on vinegar or soy sauce bottles, and so rather than one big splash of coffee, it is coming out in dozens of droplets.

During these described events, I utter one word. For some reason a vulgar term for sexual intercourse left my mouth as I was on my way toward the ground.

Anyway, now lying on my left side on the sidewalk, I look myself over and determine two things. First, other than my left hand stinging from taking the brunt of the impact, I did not get hurt. Second, while my winter coat protected my shirt from the coffee shower, I need to change my coffee soaked pants. So I got up, walked over to where the garbage bag had slid, took it to the alley, and then went back inside to change.

So with a brand new pair of pants, I safely find my way to my parents' home. There Mom wants me to take her to get a new bow for her cane. So we go to the flower shop, and get one. The flower shop has been sold since Mom started getting bows on her cane. The old owners gave her the bows for free. The new owner does as well. Plus Mom has been getting a small bouquet of flowers from the new owner the last few times we've gone for a bow for her cane as well.

I take Mom home, then leave to do their daily shopping. Upon returning from the shopping I see a *tall* (well over 6 foot) and thin young woman standing in front of my folks' home. When I get a better look at her she bears a striking resemblance to J's mother. So I'm 90% sure that's J. I get out and call her name questioningly, when she replies asking if I'm Bill. I know it's her.

We go in and have a nice visit. Mom talked the kid's ear off, and told her blow by blow all the troubles that have befallen us lately while I'm thinking it's tmi. Then we got around to talking about supper. I suggested having carry out from a local restaurant I like, and drive J there. She and I have a nice little conversation while waiting for our order. I mention how much she looks like her mother, and she mentions how once for a second she saw a picture of herself and did mistake it for her Mom. I also found out I was wrong believing she wanted to be a concert cellist. She is planing on being a music teacher, and play in small groups as a part-time thing. She also volunteered that it was her parents who put her up to offering to do some shopping and cooking for us as I suspected when I heard she offered.

Well, moving this missive along, after we eat she sets up her cello and plays. The first piece she plays she makes some glaring mistakes, as even my untrained ear noticed them. So she decides to warm up and goes into playing the scales on the cello. Starting slow and then getting faster and faster at an impressive speed without a mistake that I could notice. After that she plays several more classical pieces and this time they all sounded -- I won't say flawless -- but more at a professional musician's quality, and I did enjoy listening and watching her fingers flying over the neck of the cello.

As I sometimes do when watching a musician play, I began to watch her face. Most musicians I know have a certain look about them while they play that they don't have at any other time, a sort of blissfulness. Her face did transform, but I wouldn't quiet describe it as that blissful look I was expecting. It was more a combination of that look accompanied with constipation. Although for a brief second I did get the "pure" blissful look when she closed her eyes and smiled as she played, but the smile left and the eyes opened again and the constipation was back.

As we are between her parents' home and her school, she promised to visit again when she goes home for spring break in a few months. To me she seemed almost like a clone of her mother. Other than being a lot taller and maybe her hair is slightly darker, she is the spitting image of her Mom, and even has a lot of her Mom's attributes. I rarely see the side of the family J is from, but I like them a lot.

Actually, other than a few cousins who live in the Chicago area I rarely see any family other than my parents. And even the Chicago relatives I only see a maybe two or three times a year if that.
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