So, my dad was a maestro on the accordion. I’m talking Myron Floran caliber (hope someone gets that reference).  He could “Lady of Spain” shake that instrument (another reference I hope you get).  Any party or celebration in the family brought out the accordion and he would play and we would all sing.  It only stands to reason that he would want to share his talent with his children.

As my sister was the oldest, she was first.  He found a teacher about a half mile from the house and every Monday evening the two of them would walk there for her lesson.  She lasted a year and then said it wasn’t cool.  The baton was then passed down to me.Plus, I was three years younger, not a teenager and didn’t know what cool was.  My dad would practice with me and between the walks, the lessons and the practice, we had some very memorable one on one time.  I cherished those times.  The accordion teacher moved out of the area after three years and without a car it was very difficult to get to her new location, not to mention lugging a big, heavy, awkward suitcase.  So, my lessons stopped.

Sixty years later I’ve been gifted a youth sized “squeezebox” and tried to draw on my senior geriatric brain to play a few tunes.  Outdoor service has been my outlet and lo, and behold, a couple guys in the congregation came up to me and said they too played back in the day. (the accordion was a popular instrument back then). Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to talk them into testing their brains and muscle memory too and we can get a little combo together. We’ll be the new sensation!

So, thank you for indulging me once a month outside and taking me down memory lane. I hear my dad playing along with me and it’s such sweet harmony.

Til next newsletter------------------Nice chatting with you

Jan Strojny