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December 13, 2002
Christmas Memories
Christmas Memories
One of my favorite Christmas memories happened years & years ago. I was a manager of a small retail chain store, single mom with two small kids. I was stressed out to the max, working long hours, struggling to keep my job and spend time with my kids, had barely managed to find enough money to get them several small gifts. It was the last Friday before Christmas, I think. I' d finally managed to get away from the store long enough to make a bank run, you know, get change, make the daily deposit, and so on. I was in a rush, as we had been swamped all morning. My heart sank as I entered the bank and realized it was packed. But, being a small town bank, they had hot cups of spiced cider for everyone in line, festive Christmas decorations everywhere, nice friendly tellers, so the wait wasn't so bad.As I anxiously progressed up the line, I noticed an old, white-haired fellow wandering around, playing Christmas carols on his violin. Aha, I think. This must be the Maestro I've been hearing about. Right good hand with a fiddle, or so I'd heard. Now the Maestro was an old gent that had moved into town from "away." He'd been a famous conductor or violinist or something, from out East the best I can remember. He had some (for us) unpronounceable foreign sounding name, so everyone just called him "the Maestro." He was well-liked by everyone, even in the short time he'd been living here. I listen to him as I wait, and think, yes, he is pretty good.
I finally make it to the head of the line, and the teller retrieved the night deposit bag I'd dropped off the night before. I was supposed to watch her count everything, and make sure her total & mine matched. About this time, I hear the Maestro announce that he would be glad to play any requests, and someone requested "What Child Is This?" "Ah," the Maestro says softly, "also known as "Greensleeves"...one of my favorites. I would be delighted." I turn to better hear, as this is one of my favorites also.
As the first crystal clear, simple notes shimmer their way across the bank lobby, all conversations cease. It was so achingly, perfectly played as to be almost unbearable. The tellers stopped counting, adding machines stop adding, we are all frozen in place. It was as if time and our surroundings had ceased to exist, there was only the music as it soared and danced its way skyward, taking us along for the ride. I felt as if I could reach out and touch each poignant note as they all hang quivering in the air around us. I didn't dare, for they were as ephemeral as bubbles, and I knew even a gentle touch would destroy them.
The Maestro held us enthralled until the final note had at last died away. There was dead silence for several more moments, until my teller murmured "Beautiful" as she brushed away a tear. Her voice broke the spell, and we all at last dared to breath. Someone rushed forward to shake the Maestro's hand, thanking him for playing. A loud round of applause broke out, as we dried the tears from our wet faces. Conversations re-started, tellers begin re-counting, and soon it was business as usual. The Maestro continued to play merrily as he strolled around the bank.
But for a few brief moments that day, I became a part of a thing of true beauty. It is a memory I still treasure.
Posted by Rita at December 13, 2002 02:09 PM