oooompah
as i stood at dr katetacular's door last night, clutching my luggage and the stash of holiday cookies that my mom sent me back to k-town with, little did i think, that in under 10 minutes, i'd be giving the good doctor the scare of her thirtysomething life. i wanted to thank her for watching the furry beasts while i was away doing holiday/daughterly duty ("and", to quote maxwell smart, "llllllovvving it"), and show her the priceless family heirloom that my mom saw fit to pass on to me during this festive season of my 28th year. she called for me to come in and i carefully manoeuvred my baggage-laden self through the doorway and in to the living room.
"hey, wanna see something cool?" i asked, after we'd exchanged greetings and i'd delivered my thanks.
"sure." she didn't sound enthused, but cut her some slack. it was after 10 pm on a sunday night.
i carefully divested myself of my duffle, backpack and assorted other baggage, and walked around to the couch to place on the seat a beat up, square, black, leather case.
"you have to close your eyes and promise not to peek", i said with my back to her.
"eyes closed ... can i look yet? what is it? a sewing machine? a bra?" (blogger's note: i don't pretend to be privy to dr k's idiosyncratic thought processes)
as i spun around on my heel, fingers poised over the keys and buttons, opening the bellows to their full stretch and relishing the sound of a good, solid, C+ chord (with bass), dr katetacular's face blanched, and she held her hands to her cheeks and screeched in horror: "AN ACCORDION!"
yes, folks. my mother has passed on to me my grandmother's c.1925 "lady's accordion" with mother of pearl finish and ivory keys. walter ostanek, st. catharines' son and grammy award-winning polka king, eat your heart out.
"hey, wanna see something cool?" i asked, after we'd exchanged greetings and i'd delivered my thanks.
"sure." she didn't sound enthused, but cut her some slack. it was after 10 pm on a sunday night.
i carefully divested myself of my duffle, backpack and assorted other baggage, and walked around to the couch to place on the seat a beat up, square, black, leather case.
"you have to close your eyes and promise not to peek", i said with my back to her.
"eyes closed ... can i look yet? what is it? a sewing machine? a bra?" (blogger's note: i don't pretend to be privy to dr k's idiosyncratic thought processes)
as i spun around on my heel, fingers poised over the keys and buttons, opening the bellows to their full stretch and relishing the sound of a good, solid, C+ chord (with bass), dr katetacular's face blanched, and she held her hands to her cheeks and screeched in horror: "AN ACCORDION!"
yes, folks. my mother has passed on to me my grandmother's c.1925 "lady's accordion" with mother of pearl finish and ivory keys. walter ostanek, st. catharines' son and grammy award-winning polka king, eat your heart out.
posted by Amanda Bonner at 3:21 p.m.
2 Comments:
Wow...just...wow.
what are the chances, huh? but then again, what should i expect when i come from a family that has a long history of cuckoo clock making? i kid you not. my great uncle still manages the factory!
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