Remembering Life in F Major

In my last post, I lamented about loss.  In and out of my moments of distress, I've also noticed that others are experiencing the same thing.  Whether you are a celebrity, a "regular" person or someone else of note; loss affects us all and sometimes bring us together.  In fact, it feels kind of odd to feel such a kinship with someone I don't know personally, who has skillfully painted a painful corner of my life's canvas through his music.

The other night, I went to the mother church in Nashville and sat among the handicapped in the back.  I felt every inch of my handicap, physically and philosophically.  I was there to hear Glen Campbell, another poor soul who is battling Alzheimer's.  His musical talent was so strong and steady that it seemed hard to believe that his mental facilities were slipping.  The reminders of his handicap were there though, flaunting it's ugliness and exposing Campbell's vulnerability from the first moments until the end of the concert.

As he had to stop and start songs, the audience didn't mind.  During those vulnerable moments of his performance, it was then when the applause was louder, more enthusiastic and determined.  The look on his face exposed true surprise and gratitude for the forgiveness of his disease's imperfection.  That night, he forgot names, lyrics, guitar riffs at various times of the performance.

The thing he didn't forget is being able to sing with a soulfulness and emotion in his songs that sewed the fabric of my childhood together.  There with the mismatched patterns, various colors and stitching, all connected through the poignancy of music.  And, he announced to the audience that one of my favorite songs was in F Major.  He was pleased to have remembered that detail.

So was I

More Musings Later-