Time Travel

When my father retired, he built an office in our back yard called “The Supplement” in which there was a pipe organ, harpsicord, and piano. I remember liking the place as a child and remember the many gatherings there, many of which were concerts. 

The Supplement is long gone, the instruments given to others to play, but my sister recently sent me the guest book my father persistently had everyone sign. In it are many names, some famous others not, but he also included the programs from each concert. I have taken those programs and created a playlist of every piece performed in The Supplement*. Closing my eyes as I listen, I try to imagine the music being played in that special place. I take my seat beside the other guests and listen (and try to sit still, which was always a challenge for me). Most of all, I try to picture the performers, particularly my father, who died many years ago. 

It’s a form of time travel, I suppose, fueled by a longing deep within to go back and be with my father and the others and to listen as if the music is being performed for the first time. I guess it’s why people read the Bible - to go back, to sit beside those who heard the words when they were first spoken, and, most of all, to be with the one who first uttered them.

*“The Supplement” can be found on Spotify. (The first two concerts are assembled. The others will be coming soon.)