a victoria p


10 December 2007

I think if my grandfather could of left me anything, it would of been more piano lessons. Not even the money for piano lessons, but that actual security of having them all lined up for me, making sure I got them. Every time I saw him, the first thing he'd ask was if I had been practicing. On his death bed, I told him that I kept a keyboard in my small apartment, just for him. Just to keep him happy. That might just be true and I hadn't realized it until now.

This is all sort of personal, but what isn't? I mean, we all have or have had grandparents and a lot of us have seem them go. This isn't a great time of year for this, but really, when is? It's hard to be going through alone and my birthday seems exceptionally juvenile now, mind you. Christmas, too, even. Ain't that bizarre?

So, in reference to my New York rant, right below, may I leave some credit to my late grandfather, a New Yorker his whole life. Not just any New Yorker, but a Manhattan bachelor with a mind so incredibly sharp it shocked me what he could recollect right to his last days. I wonder the shit he got away with, especially when it came to women. Phone numbers, account numbers, concerts he had been to, towns he had visited. He had seen Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, names just a few amongst many he was able to tell me about, all live at the Apollo-- an era of New York I would have loved to have been a part of.

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