I had reached the door of our apartment yesterday with arms full of spent newspapers, headed for the recycle bin when, about one-half step across the threshold, I was stopped short by the sound of  Albert Ellmenreich's "Spinning Song." KING FM classical radio. Memories spun me to a standstill.

1965. Homestead, Florida. We bought the Jensen spinet piano that last year, moved to a granddaughter's house when we moved to a small apartment. In 1965, the Jensen piano (complete with damp-chaser and light) became the solace and sustainer of my mind and soul during the many months David sipped French Onion soup in Saigon and flew sorties from Bien Hoa airbase. 

That year was the first of many, many years when once they were fed, bathed, prayed with, and tucked into bed, our three children heard "The Spinning Song" from the Jensen piano. Once they fell to the spell of sleep, my choices of music fell to Bach, Beethoven, and familiar hymn arrangements (all written for inadequate keyboardist). My worn copy of Ellmenreich's composition came with me in last October's move along with a soprano and an alto recorder (mostly untouched). My managing the keyboard decades ago in no way resembled what I heard yesterday but, oh, the power of music memory, whether accompanying a trek to a recycle bin or a trek through decades--what a gift.