Roy Smeck: The Wizard of the Strings
or, a Roy Smeck leaf lullaby...
...a little something by Brian Western
Juxtaposition. My mother is still living in her own apartment at the age of 92. My father died when he was 52.
Sir Terry Pratchett enjoyed playing with words while slicing through the space time continuum…and in the end…words failed him.
My granddaughter is 4 ½ years old, and beginning to connect the dots of life and death. She’s watched as the aging rabbits that were her parents pets, one by one became sick and died. Franz was the last…a friendly Flemish Giant. And there was Herschel the Dutch and Gumdrop a Californian before…yes…they had a boatload of rabbits!
As we passed an enormous cemetery on Dale Street on our way to Roseville, she asked, “Is that where dead people are?”
“That’s where their bodies are…not their spirits”
“Is it grown ups, or little kids?”
“Mostly grown-ups, you know? Some little kids…”
On the way to The Minnesota Zoo, the week before, she had asked if I knew when she was going to die. I told her that I didn’t, that only God knows when someone is going to die. And then I wondered at the theological implications from a four year olds perspective. Well…most people live a long life…I thought I should throw in the longevity average.
And then, there’s Roy Smeck…