Near my house is an are of the local Metro Parks system known as Treaty Line Rd. It's a nice little walking trail with a series of exercise stations along the way. I used to take my Wheaten Terrier, Twiggy, walking there. Then Scruff after her. Now I take Chunk there. Also note that this is the place designated in my farewell instructions to mix my ashes and however many boxes of dog ashes I have.

Today as I drove in I saw a guy there sitting on some kind of a case and playing a button box accordion. It was just him, the trees, and the breeze, and he was playing his heart out. I walked over and said hello and told him that what he was doing right there takes me back 65 years. We talked for a good 5 minutes before I went on our walk. And when I came back, he was playing a really nice waltz into his cell phone. It seems that he plays at nursing homes and eldercare assisted living residence type places. I heard that waltz and was sent back to when my mother had me sit with her and play The Blue Skirt Waltz over and over and over, alternating with her between melody and harmony. And she was quite strict about me getting it right, telling me "If you really want to be a musician when you grow up you need to know this stuff." Guess what that guy (Jerry) was playing as I walked back to the car after our walk?

Yep. The Blue Skirt Waltz. I couldn't hold it together. Between the memories of my mother driving home her point and the wonder of seeing this man doing what he was doing JUST for his love of music, it was too much. And I have been thinking ever since why I am how I am. When I play a show I agonize for DAYS about every note that was out of place, about every harmony that was flat, every cue that was missed, every arrangement that was broken... This drive for unattainable perfection is going to either kill me or drive me crazy like Shumann not being able to stop hearing "that note". I know there is no such thing as perfection, yet I strive for it myself and push others to join me in the quest, often making people really mad at me.

And today, here was this guy...

Kind of a positive up beat message for you Eddie. There maybe hope for you yet. Thought others may want to share the sound. This is it, right?

True story for you here.

When I was 10 years old, there was a widow in our neighborhood that treated all of us kids like her own. She went out and bought a big pool for all of us kids despite having no kids of her own. And she did stuff like that all the time. Her porch had a fridge that was stocked with NeHi pop every day! So one Saturday, all the grownups plotted and planned to paint her house. They met at my house, 3 houses down, and at 8am they went over and started banging on doors and windows to wake her up. Then the ladders went up. The men started painting, and the women stated cooking a typical Slovenian feast. Stuffed cabbage, kielbasa and fried potatoes, pierogi.. all of it. About 6:30 some "old" man (remember I was 10) came up the driveway and started playing his accordion. 10 minutes later an upright bass player showed up. Then a drummer. A sax player, a banjo player... When they were all in 4th gear my mother pulled out my accordion and there I was playing with these "old" guys. (More on that in a minute.)

About 9pm, up the driveway walked The Polka King himself, Frankie Yankovic. I didn't know until much later that this was not impromptu. All those "old" guys were the band he toured with. And here I was, at TEN YEARS OLD, playing with them. And holding my own!!!

I found out when I was in my 30s that after the music stopped at 11 or so (I had to go to sleep! Again, I was 10!) that Yankovic pulled my mother aside and told her "Whatever this kid does with the rest of his life, you make sure he stays with his music. I never heard somebody this age play so fluidly and with such good timing."

And that song you just posted right there still brings me to tears. My mother has been gone 20 years now, and every time I play I can hear her telling me "You HAVE to learn how to harmonize if you want to be a musician." She also taught me to polka and waltz at a very young age, part of why I have really good rhythm and timing.

I once did a recording of Blue Skirt Waltz JUST to have a copy of me performing it. It took me at LEAST 40 vocal takes to get through the song without blubbering.

My father? 100% HATED that I chose music as my path. 100% did not support me on my journey. Never once came to see me play. He wanted me to be the same hard working blue collar guy that he was. He died in 1991, at 73, when I was 39, disappointed in me. That has been a hard load to bear for these last 30 years.

Loved hearing that song one more time!

Incredible story Eddie. Thanks for sharing that. Obviously your mother loved you very much and wanted you to be happy. Next time you walk ole' chunk along that trail just smile and think of Mom, and hear that song play in your head. Its the memories of things like those moments, that make life such a great journey.

cool story

both of them actually.