JULY 23, 2026 – Much of this beautiful day was given over to a birthday party; first in rehearsing some music for which I’d been recruited to perform at the party, and later, in attending and playing at the party itself.
The occasion was the surprise party for a loyal fan of our decades-long “Fidder Under the Roof” winter house concert series. Our fan was turning 80, and his wife, also a big fan of ours, had recruited my partners in crime—four other lawyers—and me to provide an hour’s worth of semi-serious music after the catered birthday dinner.[1]
The rehearsal starting early this afternoon was a mixed bag. It started off on the right foot—one of my friends presenting me with the first volume of Joseph Needham’s extraordinary work, Science and Civilisation in China, a 24-volume encyclopedia of scientific discovery in that country over the centuries. I’d first heard of this work when reading Simon Winchester’s book, The Man Who Loved China—an amazing account of the life and scholarship of a Cambridge professor, who crisscrossed China in the middle of the Japanese occupation during World War II. His mission had been to take scientific lab and research instruments to Chinese scientists but he also wound up making all sorts of discoveries about the history of scientific research in the country. He spent the rest of his academic career assembling his results in encyclopedic form. (See my 8/20/25 post).
I’d told my friend—Perry W.—about Winchester’s book and Needham’s magnum opus. Soon thereafter Perry read Winchester’s book, then fished the internet for Needham’s work—and hooked volume one. After skimming the volume, he told me today, he decided that I should have it, so on my way into the rehearsal, Perry presented the book to me. I was elated. His thoughtfulness made my day.
The rehearsal itself, however, went south quickly. Two large visitor dogs were on the premises—with free reign over the downstairs of the spacious house—and when they decided to go on a barking binge and fell in love with the echo of their own voices, there was no way to hear ourselves think, let alone play our instruments. Once the dogs were cleared out, we were besieged by the domestic cleaning crew and their vacuums. After three minutes of that racket, I could feel myself losing my mind. Some firm and fast but not unkind Spanish spoken by my piano collaborator sent the vacuums into temporary abeyance.
In quietude deferred, we finally got to rehearse without distraction, one of my “redemption” pieces: Beethoven’s Romance No. 2 for violin and piano. It’s a very sweet piece, which some years back I’d mastered to the point of full focus on expression, and that’s exactly what carried me through today’s rehearsal and later, our actual performance. Beethoven the giant, Beethoven the revolutionary, Beethoven the irascible, Beethoven the composer of great music—created the piece, the Romance, to sound as light and sweet as a fragrance of the highest order; like a rare orchid from nature’s garden. We offered up the piece in response to the specific request for Beethoven on the part of the Birthday Boy’s spouse: “Beethoven is his favorite composer,” she’d written. That right there tells you much about these people.
But though our music commanded close attention of some 50 guests under the caterer’s expansive tent, our “joyful noise” wasn’t the highlight. My grand takeaways from the party were the wonderful conversations I enjoyed with other guests, including one of the daughters of our “loyal fans,” who happened to be a classmate/friend of Byron’s back at Mounds Park Academy, and who’d been among the MPA kids who used to gather at our house and break out in song with four-part harmony being a natural feature of their impromptu performances. At the conclusion of the proceedings this evening, Richard, the Birthday Boy, expressed his appreciation for everyone’s attendance. He got choked up when reflecting on life, his family, his wide circle of friends and acquaintances. He stated repeatedly how blessed he felt.
All of this took place in a bucolic setting, a secluded paradise just above the western shore of the St. Croix River a few miles north of Stillwater. To reach it you had to turn off the highway onto a narrow undulating gravel drive past an old farmhouse, a vintage barn, then down a winding course along stands of tall Norway pines until you reach a broad grassy opening between two long-standing but well-kempt rustic and picturesque dwellings perched above the St. Croix River.
The weather was perfect, and everyone in attendance was a credit to humanity. At the conclusion of the affair, as the sun set behind the thick woods to the west, I noticed the waxing moon already clear of the trees on the south of the clearing where I stood. Like a thin veil over a marble face, pink wispy clouds covered the lunar surface. Why be up there looking down on earth 254,000 miles away, I thought, when you can be right down here strolling across this beautiful patch of earth . . . with a fine view of Selene’s face in profile.
In the fading light of dusk, each of us departed the grounds with a lighter heart than the one we’d carried in.
If the Birthday Boy considered him blessed, then so did everyone present—thanks to our friendship with the blessed.
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© 2026 by Eric Nilsson
[1] As to my own musical role, if I fumbled around something awful with three of the pieces, I redeemed myself on three others—at least to a point for one member of the audience, an architect, to approach me afterward and say, “Where did you learn to play like that? I could tell you have serious musical background.” I thanked him and thought to myself, You can fool some of the people some of the time . . .
