NOVEMBER 26, 2019 – Last weekend I found “bad” and “good” on opposite sides of our house. The “bad”: a situation in which a whole lot of people dodged a bullet . . . or more precisely, a whole lot of bullets. Minutes later, on the other side of the house, I encountered “good,” as in “violin.”
On the alley side I learned from a first-hand and eminently qualified and credible witness that the now-deceased neighbor directly across from our house was a “gun nut.” We knew him as “odd,” with periodic evidence of anger and a pattern of paranoia.
“Gun nut” eludes precise definition, but “gun” is an essential element. How many guns are required? Not sure, but “50” was cited by the aforementioned witness. Then there’s the kind of guns among the cache—two AK-47s anyone?
Remember the pro-gun bumper sticker of yore, “Guns Don’t Kill People, People Do”? How ’bout, “Guns Don’t Kill People, Ammo Does”? As in 30,000 rounds. I’m not a gun person, but I’m sure that 30,000 are more than a guy would need for target practice or deer-hunting unless he’s got horrible aim.
With the approach of Thanksgiving, let’s say the supply of raw gun powder in the arsenal was gravy on a runaway train.
As I walked back up our driveway, I had one thought: “What on earth?!” In time I recovered my bearings enough to resume what I’d been doing—rolling our mower out for one last workout. I wanted to run it dry before this week’s blizzard. I also figured I could mulch the light layer of leaves that had fallen on our front yard since I’d raked.
I pretended I was running a behemoth, mechanized corn-picker on an 80-acre parcel of farmland, when along the sidewalk approached a young couple out walking their Samoyed. I slowed the corn-picker so as not to blow chaff onto the walkers. I didn’t recognize them, but I smiled.
The couple smiled back. They stopped, and the woman waved an envelope. I released the mower bar to see what she wanted.
“Does a violinist live here?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, “if you want to call me that.”
“You’re the violinist?” she said with a big smile. “Here’s a letter for you.” She handed me a letter addressed to ‘The Violinist.’ “A couple of months ago,” she said, “I heard you practicing the Mendelssohn, and I told my husband, ‘Hey, that violinist is legit!’ We moved into the neighborhood earlier this year. I used to play violin a lot, and I’ve been looking for someone whom I could play duets with and who could give me some inspiration to practice again.”
I quizzed the woman a little and learned she’d studied with a Curtis grad and in college had worked on some challenging repertoire. Her kind and generous letter was nothing short of sweet and delightful.
This evening we’re going to give Bartok some run for his money. How’s that for going from “bad” to “good”?
(Always) stay tuned.
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© 2019 Eric Nilsson
