Grandma and my ukulele
The seed was planted a few years ago, when my elderly grandmother pointed me towards her small bookshelf. “Take whatever you want”, she said, “I’m not planning on leaving anything behind when I go”.
I picked up two volumes of poetry, carefully annotated in her spidery hand. A history of the Mennonites. Then I noticed a slim book entitled, of all things, “How to play the Ukulele”.
Though a professor of sociology, Grandma had a notoriously wry sense of humour. She was infamous in our family — and this was way before my time, but I’ve seen photographic evidence — for a raucous, knee-slappin’ ukulele-flailing, vaudeville comedy routine. Whoa, Grandma!
I kissed my grandmother and tucked the books into my bag — and not long afterwards, she passed away.
What is it now, half a dozen years later? That seed has finally sprouted, and I’ve become the ever-so-proud owner of an early-50’s vintage Bobby Henshaw ukulele. It’s a little beauty, ridiculously fun to play, a fabulous graphic design stress-reliever, but best of all — every time I pick it up, I remember Grandma..


October 22nd, 2008 at 9:49 am
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