A couple of days ago, my friends Sylvia, Nicolena, and I provided a very short Christmas program at one of the assisted living centers here. We ended up singing six songs, and Sylvia did a little reading as well. The whole thing took less than 1/2 an hour to perform, but it was a great experience, and it got me thinking a bit.
I've sung at several different rest homes, nursing homes, assisted living centers, and retirement villages over the years, and although each experience has been unique, there are certain similarities between them all. I think by and large, the residents of these facilities tend to be more forgiving of musical errors, and more generous in praise of musical prowess than pretty much any other demographic. I'm certain there are many factors that combine to cause this, and I wonder what they are. I could probably guess some of them, but I'm fairly certain that there are others that would surprise me.
Anyway, I won't go on and on with all my thoughts here. There are too many of them, and besides not wanting to type them all, I also don't want to bore you with the inner workings of my own mind (not today at any rate). However, the experience has gotten me thinking about my grandparents, and some of the memories I have of them. I've already written about both of my grandmothers (here and here), but I haven't said too much about either of my grandfathers, or my Uncle Scott or Aunt Ruth (who were basically a third set of grandparents to me, as well as many of their other great-nieces and great-nephews). I don't think today is the day for that, and so I think this is all I'm going to post for now. But don't be surprised if there are some grandpa stories showing up here in the next couple of weeks. It's probably about time.