The morning was perfect. Well, it was perfect for me. Sunny days are not my forte; indeed, they are usually hot which is not pleasant, in my opinion, so I've never cared for them. No, I love the kind of day where the clouds tend to roll on top of one another and you can smell the air and catch the scent of rain. Those overcase kind of days - that's my cup of tea.
Saturday was such a day.
I had my music and was ready to hit the road. As the drive started so did the rain, though, it was fine with me. It wasn't a full down pour, just enough to make me happy. I had a special playlist for this drive too. If anyone can make a drive memorable it would be Thomas Newman and his music. Songs from soundtracks like The Horse Whisperer, Revolutionary Road, How To Make An American Quilt, and Finding Nemo had the perfect melodramatic sound - paired with the sound of rain and I was quite content.
The scenery had it's own sound as well. Rolling hills, green pastures, red and white-washed barns, and wooden fences lined the roads. Had it not been for the rain I would have stopped and got out to take some pictures. I probably would have found a "Sound of Music" moment in there somewhere as well. Thank goodness it was raining. I probably would have scared the horses away. Still, I just took my time driving - what was the hurry? No hurry, just me, the road, my music, and Jesus. Perfection.
My first stop was Lemoyne, PA. The destination was The Antique Marketplace. After looking up antique stores for over an hour the night before, I had found what I hoped would be a treasure of a place. Oh, a treasure is was! From the moment I stepped inside I could tell I was in for a fantastic adventure! If you know me well enough, you know how much I prefer these stores to any other. This place was huge! Filled with over a hundred vendors, The Antique Marketplace didn't seem to end. The excitement lasted only a few moments before I realized I did not have three key components to my happy place - Mom, Dad, and John would have loved to be there; John especially. Still, I couldn't let that stop me from finding some hidden treasures. I miss my family, but I'm not going to miss out!
I did find some unique items. I found a couple of accessories that I adore, including this emerald ring. It was front and center in one of the booths. It was the kind of booth you know a elderly woman had to own. It was almost nothing but jewelry. The ring is beautiful and I'm definitely going to have it valued. Even if it isn't worth anything, it's still pretty! Other finds included some blue glass jars I've been on the hunt for and a gorgeous hair comb that I'm pretending a young woman from Boston must have bought back in the 1920s with all of her money for her first date with a handsome farm boy who would turn out to be her husband for the next 60 years. Oh yes, I went there.After hours of being in the market I left with my happy self and new finds over and across the river to Harrisburg to scout out the place I would be going to later in the evening. Once I found the theater I searched for a place to eat and had dinner. My new favorite thing to try at various eateries are turkey burgers. This particular place did not have the best, but it certainly wasn't the worst.
As evening came I made my way to the theater. This, everyone, was the main reason I traveled so far, and would have traveled farther to experience. I was about to see the greatest, in my opinion, pianist of all. Allow me to explain:
Many times, when I was little, you could have come to my family's house and been greeted by the sounds of George Winston. My father is the main reason for our introduction to his music. Since we were babies my dad played his instrumental music to get us to sleep at night, have playing around the house on cleaning days, or on Sundays as we relaxed and enjoyed an afternoon without the television. There are even home videos where you can hear Winston's Summer or Autumn album in the background; videos like the one of John as a baby sleeping in his crib or one lazy Sunday as my parents were attempting to take a nap before going back to church for an evening service (which was interrupted by John's extreme desire to play and crawl all over them).
George Winston was more than a great pianist (and guitarist). He was a childhood staple; always playing and filling our home with peace.
I headed towards my seat in the theater: Seat 114, row D. I was exactly four rows from the stage. I had read an article once about Winston's "concerts." I don't think he approves of the word "concerts" as much as he does "sessions." The article described Winston's entrance to the stage and how low-key it had been. My mind was filling with questions: would he have an introduction? Would he just walk out? The setting was one very intimate. The stage very plain. Just the piano, a bench, and a spotlight. It spoke everything but flagrant and fancy. It spoke humility.
Just a few moments had gone by when the house lights dimmed and the spotlight became brighter. The place went silent. You could hear pin drop. Then Mr. Winston walked onto the stage and a cheerful applause proclaimed what we were thinking. There he is! There is THE George Winston. Truly, my heart skipped a beat. I watched as he hurried on stage, took a slight bow, and sat down.
He was much older than I expected, skinnier too. My image of him had not changed since I was little; I guess I didn't realize that he had become older as time went on too. Although his hair was brown it was more abundant around the bottom part of his head - the top was as shiny as a bowling ball's. He sported the mustache and beard very well. You could see the many shades of browns and grays. Furry brows and glasses. His face - like that of an old friend. It had some wrinkles here and there and you could see age taking it's mark, but he carried himself very well.
When he sat down I instantly saw an image of a boy at his piano lesson. Piano teachers instill the straight back and correct hand posture; both, he had. But the moment he spoke I saw the image fall to pieces and his gentle voice capture my attention. He got right down to business. First, he thanked the Sonoko Theater and made the only personal comment of the evening by saying it was great to be back in PA. Then he stated his first piece would be one from his Louisianna influence, Fats Waller, New Orleans Shall Rise Again. Upbeat and perky, he started the first half with a happy note.
I was still in shock to really note the uniqueness of the first piece. This was someone I had grown up listening to, and while I had never heard this particular piece, I could tell you without even looking...this was a George Winston piece.
Things came to a sudden halt when he announced his second piece. I could barely breath when I heard him tell us his next piece would be Rain from his album Winter Into Spring. The moment he started playing I felt my eyes well up with tears.
There it was - the music I heard as I would be going to sleep at night. Daddy would usually be the one to choose the tape (no cd then!) and I would watch as he would press the play button, lean down and pray with me, give me a kiss, and tell me he loved me. Then I would close my eyes and drift off into dream world.
As I sat there with tears clouding my perfect view of him, I closed my eyes and took in every single note he played. I saw my childhood when my eyes were closed and saw the man who started my dreams when I opened them. The only thing missing was my family...the most important member being my dad.
The night went on for two hours - two hours of pure delight. I loved every moment. Everything I envisioned his music to sound like in person hit the note of perfection. But what I expected out of him was everything but what I expected, except for this: George Winston was a mystery to me before I watched him play. George Winston is still a mystery even after I saw him play. But here is what makes it all the more perfect anyhow:
He always stuck to his playlist, but I could have sworn he decided what he was going to play mere seconds before his hand hit the keys.
While he was gentle and kind looking (so kind, in fact that I thought if I were to go up to the stage and ask to sit by him while he played he would have gladly said yes), there was still so much mystery of who he was and still is, that he became intimidating. He was intimidating in a good way.
The most profound thing about George Winston that I discovered that night was this: he never spoke to his audience in a close, personal way. It was all factual or historical. The most personal he got was when he made a comment or two about his influence about a specific piece. But here is why I think he was just fine in his ways:
He didn't have to get personal. His music did it for him.
I can't express it in words. Every single note in every song weaved a personal expression from his heart and soul. It spoke volumes to his story, his life. He didn't need to sit there and talk about his family, childhood, hopes or dreams. He allows his speaking to come through his music and with every song he played I understood him more and more.
His music is evident of his love, passion, and respect for life and this earth. His heart for others and preferences of living are seen even in the titles of his songs and albums.
My day in Harrisburg, PA was one I'll never forget. I can go to many antique stores...there are so many out there that I know I would enjoy and find unique treasures.
There is only one George Winston. He is unique, beautiful, and a brilliant treasure.
My Friend you are a tremendous writer. This Blog about brought me to tears. I am so blessed that the Lord would give me a Friend with a heart as beautiful as yours, you are a treasure. Love you much. ~Mary~
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