May God protect the players--and the fans--at the WORLD CUP FINAL today, Sunday July 11 . ABC TV and UNAVISION will air the game between NETHERLANDS and SPAIN
at 2 PM EDT in the area where I live.
One who commented on my blog asked me if the header picture is my bass. I wrote her that it wasn't mine, but that it was a violin. So it is from Dianne's suggestion that I remember and blog this experience:
This story I may have
blogged two years ago
not sure--oh well...
A VIOLIN--IT'S MAKER--HIS PROGENY
Fifteen years ago I was returning from Cincinnati Ohio, on a flight to Fort Myers, an hour drive from Naples Florida, home. home. Seated next to me was an attractive woman, very quiet, as was I--yes, believe that, if you can--grin! Fort Myers International Airport was being drenched with an electrical thunderstorm centered directly over the landing strips. Our flight was delayed. This resulted in a "ring-around-the-rosie" circling of the airport high atop mountains of clouds and high above the raging electrical storm.
The lady I'll name Ellen asked me if the case under my seat housed a violin, that she'd been wondering about it the whole trip.
SHE: Oh! My Great-Great Grandfather was a violin maker, a luthier."
ME: "Was he a famous maker?"
SHE: "Yes, his violins are played by many orchestral musicians around the world."
ME: "What was his name?"
SHE: "George Chanot. He is French."
ME: "Lady, you won't believe this...but this violin of mine--under the seat--IS a Chanot!"
SHE: (Thinking I am making an advance), "Welllll...may I see it?"
ME: (Hearing her disbelief), "Of COURSE!" I am just in awe over this happening here...what are the odds? ASTOUNDING!
I opened the case, uncovered the instrument, and she properly gasped--yesss, she gasped--grin! My fiddle has a beautiful reddish color, which is envied by many. As she looked inside the "f" holes (Allright, guys, STOP IT now!!!) she could read the inscription of her ancestor's signature, the city, country and date. "Georges Chanot, a Paris, 1856" Some other words illegible...
It was an awesome moment that we sat there, each thinking of the wonders of this moment, this situation, this connection.
There should be some kind of ending here. whenever I think of those few moments before we landed, I feel like something is unfinished. I should have asked her name--she lived in Ft. Myers. I guess I and she were each so struck dumb by this event, we were beyond normal "thinking" stages of behavior. So, that's it.
Oh, just one more thing. She asked if I'd play something. And so, still seated and belted, I bowed out a couple brief show tunes. She cried softly, silently, genuinely and tearfully. The passenger Peeps enjoyed every minute of this whole episodic adventure, even my playing. Passengers and airline Peeps alike, were supportive, and agreed that God had a plan here, but nobody could guess what that was.
...and fifteen years after--neither can I.