There are some memories that never leave you, no matter how far you may move on from them, or how far away you go. Anything can trigger a memory, but some…
Sitting in the library tonight, it’s noisy, the casino is crashing away behind me, and people just don’t want to be quiet around here. I would give anything for my silent library on the flagship sometimes…and then, through all of this chaos, all of this unadulterated noise, there suddenly comes the aching cry of a violin.
Now, I am quite used to hearing the strings, they play right next door, but this piece…they were playing Cavallira Rusticana
And all of a sudden, I’m home. And it’s Christmas, and I’m standing on my tip tip tip toes in my best party shoes in the smokey agelessness of my Gran’s living room, trying to wind up the music box. Because you knew you were a big girl when you could wind the mira. But that handle was always so high, and the gears were so strong that inevitably someone had to come over and help you. Even now, when that same music box rests in my own living room, I still have to throw my shoulder into it when I wind it at Christmas, and it still sticks. Only Dad can really wind it quickly.
And then, just as suddenly as it came, it’s gone. I can hear the applause erupt from the strings’ audience next door, the musicians take their bows and move onto the next piece…which blends seamlessly with the chaotic noise clattering through the air, just another indistinct layer of sound…
And I’m back…