Last night I heard on the radio the story of Michael White, a jazz clarinetist who lives in New Orleans. Katrina destroyed his home, forced him to move out of the city for a while, but he — and his music — are back. Threaded throughout this story were tunes from his clarinet, such rich, reedy sounds — we used to hear such sounds when our clarinetist was still in high school. And they made me want to play the piano — our poor spinet has languished this summer — and to teach Celia, who said the other day that she'd like to learn.
It was always my goal to fill our house and our lives with music. Too often that means turning on the radio. But I tell myself what I tell our girls: Once the music is in your fingers, it is yours forever.
It was music, in fact, that brought Michael White and his New Orleans back to life. Here's what he said: "And then I came to realize the most valuable thing that I have, I never lost. It's inside. It's that music tradition. It's the memory of all of those parades, of all of those older musicians who -- who brought the spirit of New Orleans' music and passed it on to me, so that I could help to pass it on to others. And the spirit of that music is with me every day. Every time I play my instrument, everything I ever knew and felt about New Orleans is still alive."