When my Rosemary was around we had heart to heart conversations. We compared notes on our doubts and feelings. With her gone I know of nobody I can call or see to talk about all that.

My youngest daughter says I should avoid being negative as people will avoid me. I think of that and the myriad of excuses you get when you want to talk to someone on the phone. One recent one involved me having to dial 3. Once I did that a recorded voice told me something like – Let me see if the person you want to talk to is available. After a longish wait I was told – This person cannot be contacted right now. 

My present discomfort was exacerbated by a concert I recently went to that involved quartets by Webern, Glass and Bartok. My troubles began when the Glass quartet was performed without a break. I thought that this was the longest first movement I had ever heard. The other two composers grated my nerves. This would have not happened some months ago. Definitely my musical tastes are decreasing. I told my companion about this. My companion said, “You have told me this many times before.” My companion then said, “I have a friend who has dementia who keeps repeating himself.”

I know that I will not ever attend another concert by the avant garde group and perhaps I will let go of my companion friend.

In my Kitsilano home I have a complete and very good sound system with amplifier, tuner, tape deck, dvd player, a linear tracking turntable and two JBL studio monitors. Yet I never listen to music alone. I may play music when visitors come and ask for music. I find that the music I like is always in my head. As my musical tastes become smaller I can state that I never ever want to listen to Bach’s Double Violin Concerto, or any music from the 19^th century. In my head is Piazzolla’s music and that of an Argentine pianist and composer called Ariel Ramírez. Few know that the Argentines have music that is called zamba which has the same rhythm as that of the Brazilian samba. But it is somehow entirely different and Ramírez has composed lots of it.

I wish my Rosemary were around so I could consult with her this musical taste anomaly of mine. I have tried with some friends but they keep recommending I listen to this or that without acknowledging what is wrong with me.

And so I no longer go to the theatre, dance or many concerts.

Is this something that happens to 83 year old men? What would Rosemary say?

The photograph illustrating this blog is of my Russian friend Boris who works at BeauPhoto. He does not have a piano or access to one. When he visits me he plays, without interruption music that he has composed. I wish he would visit me more. Would my spark for music light light up again?

For anybody interested in the blurred effect of my portrait of Boris at my 120 year old Chickering baby grand, UI used a Fuji X-E1 camera equipped with a lens called a LensBaby.