This is my dear Uncle Don. He is not a blood relative, but he is "uncle" to the hundreds of kids he taught in his lifetime. As our high school music teacher, Uncle Don taught us to question authority, to think for ourselves, and to stand up for what we believed in. And he taught us by example to be true to ourselves.
I visited him last week with my friend Sandra. She is a new friend, and a trip to meet Uncle Don is absolutely necessary for all the people I am close to. The experience touched her deeply. In fact, you cannot visit him and escape being affected.
Walking into Uncle Don's, you are transported to another world. Two full-sized antique pipe organs share the living room with his nine-foot concert grand, a second grand beside it, a custom-built 20-foot double-ended harpsichord, a clavichord, a Mozart grand, antique Victorian settees and chairs, framed manuscripts, stained glass, hanging tapestries, an antique grandfather clock and a night-blooming cereus that puts out flowers that dazzle his friends and neighbors.
Sandra, a pianist herself, had the pleasure of playing dual piano with him, and of trying out the harpsichord, clavichord and organ. Then we were led into the dining room, where we enjoyed a light lunch served on antique Spode china. We speared morsels with a few pieces of his collection of antique mother-of-pearl-handled silverware (more than 600 pieces in all), and drank from heavy Waterford crystal goblets.
Then, while I cleared and washed the dishes, Uncle Don showed Sandra the downstairs, which houses the rest of the keyboard collection -- a total of more than 40 keyboards.
The adopted son of a humble Montana miner and his wife, Uncle Don has never forgotten his roots. He works his land, even at the ripe age of 81 (or is it 82 now?), and thinks nothing of driving around in a 20-year-old car that runs perfectly fine, thank you. And although adopted, he cared for both his parents in their golden years. He loved them fiercely, and frequently speaks of their leap of faith when they answered an ad in the local paper and took him -- an abandoned baby -- into their home and hearts. He remains profoundly grateful for that, and for their many sacrifices they made for him. They both died in his home.
He believes that he is the custodian of all these beautiful things, and that he must share. And share he does. Complete strangers who hear about him drop in and are treated to the tour and some tea. He regularly plays at seniors' homes without charge, simply to give back and bring joy. And every Monday morning without fail, he calls the registrar (now long retired, at 100 years of age) of the university he attended, and he plays the organ for her.
I could go on and on and on about Uncle Don. Actually, I guess I already have!! But there are many more stories -- so many fond memories in the 42 years I've known him.
When I took this photo, I had hoped that the musical notes on the framed manuscripts would show, but they are a blur. That's the lid of his nine-foot grand in the background. I thought the light was so nice on his face while he was talking to Sandra, I told him not to move, to go on talking, and to ignore my clicking. He did, and that's why this looks so natural -- or at least I think it does!
