My Aunt Jean should probably be your hero, too.
She’s 92.
Last year, she flew overseas to visit my sister. In this case, “overseas” meant South Africa — just a ho hum little trip, right? Uhhh … no. This was a 9 hour flight to Amsterdam, a 4 hour layover, and then 12 hours to Capetown. When you add in waking up, the taxi to the Minneapolis airport, a stop for scones, evading her arrest warrant from some 1970s shenanigans we don’t talk about, and all of that other travel mess, she’s in for well over 30 hours — and we had to get her back, too.
92 YEARS OLD!
She smoked a ton of cigarettes in her day, so this amazing woman is a confounding mystery to us mortals, as well as our example of how to be throughout our one, short life. It was rumored she was once married to Mark Twain, but I think that was made up, probably by me, just now. I will catch hell for this in short order.
Twenty years ago, she generously gave me her entire record collection. These were, of course, the records she collected during the Golden Age of Stereo — about a dozen Ella, maybe 20 Sinatra, a’buncha Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, Stan Kenton, Dakota Staton, Basie, Bobby Darin, June Christie — just a ton of great recordings in very, very good condition. I’ve been listening to them ever since, at least once a week on my Klipsch Quartet / Fischer 500C set up. For a long time now, I’ve wanted to have her over and host a straight up listening party, but my large family gets together in larger houses than mine when there is an occasion, so this kept getting put on hold.
Finally, this summer, my cousin Katie needed to get an amp and CD player back from me after repairs. I asked her to come out to my place, “but bring your mother,” and we’d hang out for the day. This was in June, if I recall — I’m about a 1 hour drive for them these days, living high up on the St. Croix River, checking out Minnesota from a 1946 cabin seated on a Wisconsin cliff. It’s nice.
The pair drove out one Sunday. We said hello, I gave a tour and made some jokes, and then I explained my desire to play one of Jean’s records for her. I carefully moved my lounge chair into the sweet spot of the room, and asked everyone to not talk at all for at least one track. My sister, who suffers from FOMO and is a bit of a motor mouth, crashed our party, so this was essential instruction.
“What would you like to listen to, Jean?” I asked.
After a short consideration, she replied with anticipation, “I think … Sinatra.” I believe she knew that this was about to be an above average experience of pure nostalgia, and she settled in.
I had “In the Wee Small Hours” already on the turntable, so this was easy. I clicked on my 1960s-era tube amp — which is always a satisfying sound — explained why this was a very fitting stereo on which to play her music, and started the turntable. The needle grabbed hold of the groove as needles do, and the strings introduced the band as we quieted down. Jean was seated, likely not having been in front of a quality stereo in a good number of years. More importantly, she was hearing music decades and decades after she had picked it out in a record store — the actualrecord she chose was once again playing music for her after all this time. To many of us, these old keepers of the Great American Song Book are like old friends. To Jean and countless others, Frank was her best friend, and they were being reunited in my living room.
Please — if you want to see a moment of pure joy — take a moment to watch her experience. She gave me permission to share this, and I really think it is quite special. This is what happy looks and sounds like.
We make music in this life for one reason: To share and experience joy. Don’t ever forget this, folks.
Don’t ever forget it.
Thank you for the music, Aunt Jean. It will always be in good hands.
With love,
Steve