It’s the little things I remember

I remember my first piano lesson well. In fact, I remember the first piece of music that Robin Wood taught me. Sitting at one of the concert grand pianos at the old Victoria School of Music on Victoria’s Pandora Ave, right across from the McPherson Playhouse, Mr. Wood taught me the above keyboard melisma. Having noted my possession of five working fingers on my right hand, he composed a ditty for me. It took most of a half hour to master the piece, especially given the difficult cross fingering between the last two notes.

I went home and practised on the Harlow Drive family piano, and voila—I can’t say that “a star was born” but my imagination was tweaked. I should further note that I only enjoyed 3-4 lessons with Mr. Wood whose own star was fast rising. He went on the form the Victoria Conservatory of Music which launched many fine musical careers including that of my school friend Walter Prossnitz. I was passed on to Mrs. Menting who had a somewhat dingy second-floor studio above the main hall. My progress at the time was, shall we say, unremarkable.

So why do I remember this slice of early life? Who knows?—and “who” hasn’t told me. Certainly music has remained a dominant theme for most of my life, but to remember the time of day (4 p.m.) and the details of that particular ditty is quite puzzling.

I have other memories from my early years. I think I was four years old when the 54 Chevy Belair (who knew that my parents owned a cool car?) overheated on the Malahat Highway between Victoria and Duncan—such malfunction was an almost daily experience on that road years ago. I remember my brother and father going somewhere to get water for the radiator.  

Decades later I remember watching the movers removing all our worldly possessions from the moving van as we moved into the rectory in Summerland where we lived prior to owning our first home. I remember the people we first met, the Bayles and the Truscotts—I was to have much engagement with both couples during my tenure there. I remember seeing the driver leave the cab, put his gloves on, and piece by piece the household methodically took shape. I think of this process every time I re-load the dishwasher. Seriously, every single time!

Obviously I remember the births of both our children )each had special characteristics) and equally important the day Kathie and I decided to marry—November 22, 1986. These life events are obviously memory-worthy. But what gives with these other memories, these little moments, scenes seemingly so very unimportant, such staying power. Many of these memories come to mind if I wake in the night—none are particularly stressful, though often comic. These recoverable scenes make me smile, and usually I fall back asleep.

I remember my first air flight from Victoria to Vancouver. I remember going with Dad to the Air Canada (recently re-branded from Trans Canada Airlines) booking office on the edge of Centennial Square, opposite City Hall (where my grandfather worked in the last century). We asked the man behind the counter what kind of plane we would travel in. He said a four-engine Viscount. Well, this was very re-assuring. It had wings, and four engines. One dies, and you have three left. If all die, well, you know. As my first flight I had many questions (and a few anxious concerns). At one point I asked my father if we could open the window while airborne—the window had all these clamps surrounding the glass—he actually seemed uncertain, but suggested I leave them alone.

In other situations I remember my first under-age drink at the Snug Pub at the Oak Bay Beach Hotel. I remember discovering French Onion Soup in a Soho, London restaurant in 1979; I also discovered fried mushrooms alongside the Gorge waterway two years earlier in Victoria.

Truth be told, there are so many “little things” which continue to make me smile today. Such small moments retain their power possibly because they are the most playful memories, the most humorous occasions, or the most socially interactive. At the end of my days what will remain are less my major accomplishments—there have been some for sure—but the informal, small moments, with friends and colleagues, and with myself, and yes, with the Great Spirit.

So as Bob Hope sang, Thanks—for the memories.