Brent is haunting me...
As I posted earlier, Brent sent me a treasure chest full of his music. I have been drinking it by the pint and I'm fully drunk at this time. Some of it just won't let me go. One of the pieces that does that to me is called "Slips Away" and it has a haunting little piano trill (for lack of a better word, but not exactly that, perhaps a flourish?) that is a repeated theme.
Another is a care-full lament of friendship almost lost called "Silly Little Me". These are working titles, and I hope I'm not betraying a confidence by mentioning them. I woke up four times last night and "Silly Little Me" played through my mind each time.
Listening to all of it makes me want to spend a week with Brent and just sit and listen to him like some of us did when we were at the Hostel down in the entrance foyer where the piano was. I don't remember it happening often, but we would gather around as he played and just listen.
Many of us were in Concert Choir together under the tutelage of Patsy Knight. I contacted Patsy recently and she is in her final year of teaching. During my first year of high school 30 years ago, she taught me 7 days a week--5 days at school, adult choir rehearsal for Kebayoran Baptist English Service on Saturday, and the worship service on Sunday. She was one of the people that I would have showed up for an eighth and ninth day if we had that many in a week.
Many of us in the Hostel shared music as a language of love that year. There were guitars and trumpets and pianos constantly being played. Frequently these sons and daughters of missionaries would lead the music at the Sunday evening youth get togethers. The isolation of the mission stations sometimes added enormous practice to already great talent. I think Brent was one of those.
I regret not staying in contact with Brent through the years. He suffered through many difficult years when I was enjoying success. I wonder how things would have been different for him if I had chosen to stay closer as a friend. I could have...
...but I can't change anything other than the present. And I've started the process of renewing that friendship with him. He understands difficulty and he is sympathetic for me in ways that are...well...comforting. And his music provides an expression for feelings that were somewhat hard to deal with...things I haven't even mentioned here.
Friendship...real friendship...eventually gets to that point, I think. The point where life makes you REALLY glad that someone knows your name and is glad to hear it...will talk on you on the phone even if it is really inconvenient. Someone that connects you directly back to that earlier time--a LONG time ago--when and where you met them. Brent is one of those friends like that. Thanks again, Brent, for being a great friend.
Another is a care-full lament of friendship almost lost called "Silly Little Me". These are working titles, and I hope I'm not betraying a confidence by mentioning them. I woke up four times last night and "Silly Little Me" played through my mind each time.
Listening to all of it makes me want to spend a week with Brent and just sit and listen to him like some of us did when we were at the Hostel down in the entrance foyer where the piano was. I don't remember it happening often, but we would gather around as he played and just listen.
Many of us were in Concert Choir together under the tutelage of Patsy Knight. I contacted Patsy recently and she is in her final year of teaching. During my first year of high school 30 years ago, she taught me 7 days a week--5 days at school, adult choir rehearsal for Kebayoran Baptist English Service on Saturday, and the worship service on Sunday. She was one of the people that I would have showed up for an eighth and ninth day if we had that many in a week.
Many of us in the Hostel shared music as a language of love that year. There were guitars and trumpets and pianos constantly being played. Frequently these sons and daughters of missionaries would lead the music at the Sunday evening youth get togethers. The isolation of the mission stations sometimes added enormous practice to already great talent. I think Brent was one of those.
I regret not staying in contact with Brent through the years. He suffered through many difficult years when I was enjoying success. I wonder how things would have been different for him if I had chosen to stay closer as a friend. I could have...
...but I can't change anything other than the present. And I've started the process of renewing that friendship with him. He understands difficulty and he is sympathetic for me in ways that are...well...comforting. And his music provides an expression for feelings that were somewhat hard to deal with...things I haven't even mentioned here.
Friendship...real friendship...eventually gets to that point, I think. The point where life makes you REALLY glad that someone knows your name and is glad to hear it...will talk on you on the phone even if it is really inconvenient. Someone that connects you directly back to that earlier time--a LONG time ago--when and where you met them. Brent is one of those friends like that. Thanks again, Brent, for being a great friend.
posted by greg.w.h@7:15 AM link-to-post
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