The sounds of home.


I've mentioned before that Michael likes to fill the kitchen (and his room) with classic jazz covers.  Between downloading stuff from iTunes and transferring my father's old LPs to digital format, he's got a ton of stuff.  This morning we enjoyed Jack Teagarden, "Father of the Jazz Trombone", during breakfast.  All this is hugely reminiscent of my childhood years.  Whenever my father was home, jazz streamed from the record player in the living room or from various cassette decks he had around the house.  Even our trips to the cottage in the 60s and early 70s included tunes coming from a cassette player that he kept in the front seat of the car.  The only exception to this was Sunday mornings, when the music tended to be Bach.  

When my mother was here last week, Michael put on some Louis Armstrong.  She put her arm around him and told him that he was making her very emotional (in a good way) and that she almost felt like crying.  I feel that way sometimes too.

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