Even with the tape crackles and microphone muffles, the voice clarity lofting to high G's surprises me. One viola note makes me cringe for a finer tuning. Otherwise, its deep resonance hums with Grandma's piano, a Whitney baby grand given to her for her high school graduation. Her light-touch improvisations over well-known melodies transport me back twenty years to a sunny November Saturday where I perch on the edge of her piano bench. Balancing a tape recorder on his knees, Grandpa positions a small microphone towards me. Among many songs that day, I sing "The Lighthouse."
That's Enough for Me
That's Enough for Me
That's Enough for Me
Even with the tape crackles and microphone muffles, the voice clarity lofting to high G's surprises me. One viola note makes me cringe for a finer tuning. Otherwise, its deep resonance hums with Grandma's piano, a Whitney baby grand given to her for her high school graduation. Her light-touch improvisations over well-known melodies transport me back twenty years to a sunny November Saturday where I perch on the edge of her piano bench. Balancing a tape recorder on his knees, Grandpa positions a small microphone towards me. Among many songs that day, I sing "The Lighthouse."