Brand new music.
When I think of the best and brightest moments from the past month or so, I realise they all have one thing in common - music. It's quite amazing. Music helps. Music heals.

We went to Tallinn yesterday afternoon. There was a concert in one of the big old churches in Tallinn's old town. The concert was put together of new organ pieces that were written for the Estonian Church Music's Association's competition last year. My dad happened to win two second prizes there so we sat in the pew and listen to his new pieces yesterday evening, alongside with other pieces from that competition. It was really really nice, I have to say. It's one thing to hear him play those melodies on our piano in the living room but it's quite a different matter to hear them being played by a professional organist in a big and beautiful church. This kind of thing lifts your spirit in a way only a few other things can. And on such an occasion you feel like going to a nice restaurant afterwards and for a short time you actually manage to feel like a normal person, a person who isn't only defined by grief and loss. We really had a lovely evening yesterday, me and my dad, S. and my sister-in-law. Music does help.

The other memory comes from last Friday evening. It's not a time for us to try to keep our traditions alive, it's a time for us to try to keep ourselves alive, but there are some family traditions that have found a way to survive, and that makes me really glad. Our Friday evening music making bashes seem to have survived our tragedies. Us making music together on Friday evenings have a long and embarrassing history. I think the root of it is found in us, kids, coming home for the weekend, and my mum finding it absolutely necessary that we would play something in the church at the Sabbath morning service. The scenario was always the same. We were like, No, mum, we haven't practised for ages and playing in the church is a serious thing, we can't, we won't. But despite all the protests, we always ended up finding our instruments and dusting them off. And then always a sheet of music was missing, and we had to dig ourselves into the endless piles of music found in our cupboards. My mum was the only one who could find her way in the midst of hundreds (if not thousands) of sheets of music. The rest of us were, and still very much are, completely lost. But after a long music sheet hunt we could start practising, but by that time my dad had lost it and was already playing something else, and K. was fooling around with his flute. And then I was the one shouting, C'mon, guys, it's late and I want to go to bed, could we please play the piece we're supposed to?!?! So after a major mess we could finally get down to practice. Mum would listen and comment and make us play again...

Of course, things are very-very different now, it's only me and my dad. Last Friday night he sat down and played the piano. And I sang. For a good couple of hours. It's only a shadow of the days when this house was filled with laughter and arguing and fooling around and a lot of music on Friday nights. But we still made music. And that counts for something. We still made music.


Oh. Yes. Tuesday's Tune. Ben Rector's Sailboat

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