Hey! Big spender

I rarely watch television during the day. And I rarely watch a tv program I haven’t prerecorded. Which means I rarely watch a tv commercial, other than in fast-forward mode. But one recent afternoon I did all those things.

To fend off the boredom of leg stretches, I tuned into an episode of HGTV’s Tiny House Hunters. I enjoyed imagining myself living in one of those tidy little gems. Where would I put my piano?

The commercial interruptions were annoying, until an ad for Uncle Ben’s rice caught my eye and my ear. It featured the song “The Sign,” by Ace of Base (I opened up my eyes and saw the sign…):

That made me think of other old songs used in tv marketing campaigns. Usually the lyrics are tweaked. For example, The National Dairy Board’s “Cheese, Glorious Cheese,” a jingle based on “Food, Glorious Food,” from the 1960 British musical Oliver!

Occasionally, a song appears in its original form, like Carly Simon’s “Anticipation,” in a classic 1978 Heinz ketchup commercial:

Here are other vintage tunes that made their way into commercials:

  • Irving Berlin’s “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee” was heard in Nescafé ads during the 1950s.
  • To advertise an early powdered creamer, a simple word substitution gave us “You’re the Pream (Cream) in My Coffee,” a take-off on a 1928 song from the team of DeSylva, Brown, and Henderson.
  • A second 1928 DeSylva/Brown/Henderson effort, “Button Up Your Overcoat,” appeared in a late 1960s commercial for Contac cold medicine.
  • For decades, Oldsmobile sold its cars to the tune of “In My Merry Oldsmobile,” a waltz from 1905.
  • Call Me, a song made popular by Petula Clark, was perfect for Bell Telephone ads in the 1970s.
  • Northeast Airlines featured “Yellow Bird,” a West Indian folk song recorded by Harry Belafonte, in its pre-1972 tv ads. After that, Northeast’s yellow-and-white planes disappeared from the sky when the company merged into Delta.
  • Food businesses have had a lot of success with old songs in their tv ads: “Try a Little Tenderness” for Perdue Chicken, “Make (Bake) Someone Happy” for Pillsbury, “It’s So Nice to Have a Man (Cake) Around the House” for Betty Crocker, “Give Me the Simple (Campbell) Life” for Campbell soups. Wesson Oil made up the marketing word “Wessonality,” a play on the 1945 song “Personality.”
  • “My Romance,” a 1945 Rodgers and Hart song from the musical Jumbo, was used to sell a Ralph Lauren fragrance called “Romance.”
  • The National Safety Council co-opted “Buckle Down, Winsocki” (1941) for its “Buckle Up for Safety” ads in the 1960s, before seat belts were mandatory.

And finally, finding inspiration in a couple of fun Beach Boys tunes, advertisers came up with catchy ways to promote Sunkist orange drink and Hondas. Separately, of course:

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.


Posted in Music history | Tagged | 7 Comments

Song without words

“Who put the kick in the chicken?” Patty repeatedly asked her tablemates, over a lunch of tuna salad. They tried hard to figure out what she meant, with no luck. Patty’s frustration mounted. “WHO PUT THE KICK IN THE CHICKEN?” No one knew. Patty has anomic aphasia.

Aphasia is a communication disorder that affects speech but not necessarily intellect. As one speech pathologist put it, aphasia is a language impairment, not a thinking impairment. It’s the result of disease or brain injury, frequently a stroke.

My listeners often recognize an old song but can’t remember any of the words. That’s not aphasia. That’s just aging.

And there are “senior moments” for all of us, when we can’t think of a name or a word we’ve always known. Then later—minutes, hours, even days—our brain suddenly supplies the missing item. It once took me a year to come up with the word “fixtures” to collectively describe the sink, faucet, etc. found in a bathroom. What a relief when the word finally surfaced. Those temporary lapses, though annoying, are also not aphasia.

In my first blog post back in 2013, I wrote about a listener named Betty, who removed her earring and held it out to me. “Can you play this?” she asked. At the time, I thought her unusual request resulted from dementia. Looking back, I wonder if aphasia also had a role.

Many people with aphasia can still sing, even when they’ve lost the ability to speak. A couple of years ago while I played in the lobby of an assisted-living facility, aides parked Josie, a sweet woman in a wheelchair, next to me. For the next hour, Josie “sang” every song, substituting “dee-dee-dee” for the lyrics. Her voice matched the melody and she seldom sang in the spaces, so I think she actually knew the songs, and quite possibly the real words, but just could not say them. Josie might be an example of a person with global aphasia.

Another day, as I made my way out after a performance, a woman from the audience reached out to me. I stopped, she clasped my hand and said, over and over, “Fine, fine, fine, fine.” Perhaps she had Broca’s aphasia, also called “non-fluent aphasia” or “expressive aphasia.” Nevertheless, she was able to communicate her appreciation in a way I had no trouble understanding.

Back at Patty’s table, next to the piano, conversation continued:

Patty: “I keep those songs in my inner sanctum.”
Phyllis: “Where’s that?”

I couldn’t resist looking. Patty pointed to her head. “Right here.”

So far Patty’s aphasia is mild. Sometimes her odd word substitutions puzzle the other three patient, kind women who share her lunch table. But that time, they all nodded. She got it exactly right.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Aging, Audiences, Overheard, Volunteering | Tagged | 2 Comments

My heart at thy sweet voice

Many of my elderly listeners proudly introduce me to their visiting sons and daughters. For a resident of a senior facility, having visitors is a big deal. It announces, My life extends beyond the walls of this place.

Lunchtime visitors often use my piano music as a talking point when conversation wanes. Do you know this song, Mom? Did you and Dad dance to it?

There are poignant moments. Once when I played “Let Me Call You Sweetheart,” a memory-care patient named Carroll livened up and started singing. His daughter was surprised. I noticed her wiping away tears as she sang along softly with him.

Another time, Luella’s granddaughter came to visit, bringing her 9-month-old twin girls. Luella leaned in close to those babies and serenaded them while I played “Red River Valley” and “Bicycle Built for Two.”

But when it comes to singing, Florence and her daughter Jane are my stars.

It started one day when Jane arrived to take her mother to a dentist appointment. Florence uses a wheelchair and needs help with activities of daily living, but mentally she’s sharper than many middle-agers I know. Jane had come a little early and found her mother finishing lunch, just as I was wrapping up at the piano with Irving Berlin’s “Always.”

The two began singing together. Conversation in the room stopped. They were good. I decided to extend my program with a couple more songs. Florence and Jane crooned their way through “Blue Moon” and “As Time Goes By.”

Jane scheduled her next visit to coincide with my next visit. This time, she got there before I did, not wanting to miss a moment of the music with her mother. And they knew the words to every song: “It Had to Be You,” “Side by Side,” “Georgia.”

It turns out they’ve enjoyed music together for a long time. Jane, who is about my age, told me that when she and her sister were young, they used to tap dance and sing at the Polish Club in Lansing, while their mother accompanied on piano. Jane loved performing. She still does.

As the hour ended, Jane had a request. I dug through my sheet music and found what she wanted: “That Wonderful Mother of Mine,” a sentimental century-old song. This time Jane stood, locked her gaze on Florence, and sang solo: You are a wonderful mother, dear old mother of mine…

As those old MasterCard commercials put it: Priceless.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Audiences, Music and emotion, Singing, Song requests, Volunteering | 4 Comments

From the archives

For most people, the upcoming Labor Day weekend marks the end of summer. For me, fall begins today, the day I turn my calendar to September.

September makes me think of white blouses. When I was growing up, I could always count on a crisp white blouse among the gifts I received for my early-September birthday. Paired with a green plaid skirt, the white blouse was a required part of my school uniform. The skirt was a specific design that had to be purchased from a school supply store. The white blouse could be any style. Within reason—it was a Catholic school, after all. I liked getting those blouses for my birthday. In fact, I liked wearing a uniform. Not the height of fashion, but a uniform made it so much easier to get ready in the morning.

Here’s a post from 2013, musings on turning 60. Ready or not, time marches on.

I turned 60 years old on Tuesday. I’m not thrilled with the idea, but there’s nothing I can do about it, of course. And as the saying goes, “Age is just a number.” Or to quote actress Billie Burke (Glinda, the Good Witch, in The Wizard of Oz), “Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese.” Nonetheless, 60 is a big, round milestone.

Searching through my sheet music for September-themed songs for this month’s volunteer piano playing, it dawned on me that I’ve always associated September with the start of a new school year, a time of new beginnings. But September songs are meaningful to my older audiences for a different reason: “September years” or “autumn years” are the later years of life. Summer fades, fall follows, suggesting that the end is not far away.

In 1965, Frank Sinatra put together an album on this theme, featuring orchestral arrangements by Gordon Jenkins. Sinatra selected songs that reflect on aging and the inevitable passage of time: “Last Night When We Were Young” (1936), “This Is All I Ask” (1958), “Try to Remember” (1960), “It Was a Very Good Year” (1961). I’m sure that “My Way” would have made the cut, but it hadn’t yet been written. I must mention that Sinatra was a mere 50 years old when he released this album! He lived another three decades.

In the album’s title song, “The September of My Years,” Sammy Cahn’s lyrics are bittersweet:

One day you turn around and it’s summer,
Next day you turn around and it’s fall.
And the springs and winters of a lifetime,
Whatever happened to them all?

As a man who has never paused at wishing wells,
Now I’m watching children’s carousels,
And their laughter’s music to my ears.
And I find that I’m smiling gently as I near September,
The warm September of my years,
The golden warm September of my years.

Most of the octo- and nonagenarians I meet when I visit senior facilities have a clear-eyed view of the place they’ve reached in their lives. Their stories are nearly complete, their legacies largely determined. When I express sadness upon hearing of a death among their fellow residents, I get a no-nonsense response like “That’s what we’re all here for.” These are vibrant elderly people who enjoy their lives, their communities, their activities, but they recognize their time is limited. Some do admit surprise at seeing their wrinkled selves in the mirror, because they still feel young inside.

Life passes so very quickly. Earlier this year I was talking about significant birthdays with a friend who was also born in 1953. “I’m turning 60,” she announced, paused, then added, bewildered, “How can that be?”


Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Aging, Music and emotion, Music history, Volunteering | 2 Comments

A-B-C-D, can I bring my friend to tea?

Most of us learned our ABCs by singing a tune that dates to the 1800s, the same tune used for “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep” and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” It’s based on a melody by Mozart, who borrowed it from an old French song.

Spelling through song starts early, too. Kids have been singing “Bingo” for more than 200 years. In the 1950s, Head Mouseketeer Jimmie Dodd wrote music that taught young television viewers how to spell a very important name:

M-I-C (See you real soon)
K-E-Y (Why? Because we like you)

Grownups, too, have songs that spell out words in their lyrics. I decided to round them up. Here is what I’ve found so far (I limited my list to pre-1970 music):

  • George Cohan wrote the spelling hit “When We Are M-A-Double R-I-E-D” for his 1907 show The Talk of the Town. He had even more success the following year with a song called “Harrigan” (“H-A-Double R-I-G-A-N spells Harrigan…”), one I play in all my St. Patrick’s Day programs.
  • Sophia Tucker popularized “M-O-T-H-E-R” in 1915. In 1947, it was heard in the film Mother Wore Tights starring Betty Grable:

M is for the million things she gave me,
O means only that she’s growing old,
T is for the tears she shed to save me,
H is for her heart of purest gold…

Five of the songs I came across in my search spell out place names:

  • Irving Berlin’s “I’ll see you in C-U-B-A,” a Prohibition-era song, was revived in 1946 by Bing Crosby and Olga San Juan in the film Blue Skies.

 Everybody’s going there this year
And there’s a reason
The season opened last July
Ever since the U.S.A. went dry…

  • Composer Harry Warren and lyricist Mack Gordon wrote “I’ve Got a Gal in Kalamazoo” for the 1942 movie Orchestra Wives. Introduced in the musical by Glenn Miller, with a recording timed to coincide with the movie’s premiere, the song climbed to #1 on the Billboard chart. It was nominated for an Academy Award but lost to “White Christmas.” [In this video, singing starts at 1:15, with an amazing dance routine by the Nicholas Brothers at 4:18.]

  • Oscar Hammerstein tacked on a spelling of the state at the very end of the lyrics he wrote for Richard Rodgers’ 1943 tune “Oklahoma.”
  • Ralph Flanagan and Herb Hendler’s 1953 A-L-B-U-Q-U-E-R-Q-U-E” has a great big-band sound. [Singing starts one minute in.]

  • Country musicians Curley Williams and Billy Simmons wrote “M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I” in 1950. It was introduced by Red Foley, also recorded later by Kay Starr.

I turned up two holiday spelling songs. The first is secular: “C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S,” a 1949 country tune by Eddy Arnold, with words by Jenny Lou Carson. The other has traditional religious lyrics: “Christmas Alphabet,” released in 1954 by The McGuire Sisters.

In the 1960s, we had:

  • Connie Francis’s shout-out to “V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N” fun, her final top-ten hit in 1962.
  • “L-O-V-E,” recorded by Nat King Cole in 1964.

L is for the way you look at me
is for the only one I see
V is very, very extraordinary
E is even more than anyone that you adore can…

  • Van Morrison’s memorable “G-L-O-R-I-A” chorus, also 1964.
  • Aretha Franklin’s 1967 recording of Otis Redding’s “Respect.” She added a spelling bit to her version and earned a Grammy.
  • “D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” a country western/pop hit for Tammy Wynette in 1968. The song highlights what Wynette’s producer Billy Sherrill called the “teardrop” in her voice.

What song have I m-i-s-s-e-d?

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.



Posted in Music history | Tagged | 7 Comments

Every breath you take

In October 2014, my mother spent the last eight days of her life in a beautiful South Carolina hospice facility. My daughter and I were there with her, witnessing the closing act of her nearly 82 years. A stream of visitors kept us company. On what I consider her “last good Sunday,” a little therapy dog was brought in. My mother stroked the dog’s silky ears and cooed, “Oh, puppy, puppy, puppy.” In the days that followed, she slowly drifted away.

I slept each of the eight nights in a recliner next to her bed, waking frequently as staff came in to monitor her condition and administer pain medication. My mother seemed more agitated after dark, perhaps because she’d never liked being alone. I did my best to soothe her.

When the end came, early on a Thursday evening, she went quietly, without fanfare. Not really her style at all.

The 24/7 backdrop to those eight days and nights was the roar of my mother’s oxygen machine. I inquired early on whether the oxygen was extending her life unnecessarily. No, the nurses said, it was a comfort measure consistent with hospice guidelines. Without oxygen, they told me, my mother would feel like she was suffocating.

I could never quite tune out the sound of that oxygen machine.

A couple of weeks ago, when I arrived to play at the assisted living community where Jeanette lives, I heard it again. Jeanette’s oxygen machine was plugged in behind the piano, and the unit sat right next to the bench. She was at her lunch table a few feet away, tethered by long tubing and a nasal cannula.

I set out my sheet music and started playing, accompanied by the whoosh of the big machine at my right elbow. If the device had had arms, it could have joined me for a duet. It was that close. The noise distracted me for a while, but soon became familiar.

And oddly comforting.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Aging, Death, Hospice, Volunteering | Tagged | 4 Comments

‘Tain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it

Eric arrives for his lunch shift at the assisted-living center looking disheveled, as always. He’s probably in his mid-20s, wearing wrinkled blue scrubs over a t-shirt. His dark hair is short but uncombed. Tattoos cover both arms. The residents love him.

There’s a quote usually attributed to Maya Angelou, although she likely got it from the inspirational writings of Carl Buehner:

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

That’s the secret to Eric: the way he makes everyone feel.

With a room full of hungry people to tend to, Eric gets started. His first assigned table is next to the piano, where four women wait silently. He greets them like he’s happy to be at their service.

“What can I get you to drink today?”

Without hesitation, Dot orders a double vodka and orange juice, her standard answer. “I really wish I could get that for you,” Eric responds, with regret that sounds genuine. “How about just the orange juice?”

Each woman gets Eric’s full attention as she requests a beverage, sometimes two or three. Because dehydration can be a big problem among the elderly, beverages are never limited. I’d like cranberry juice in a cup, and a glass of half ginger ale and half iced tea—lots of ice—without a straw. And also some water.

He takes this in stride, ever accommodating. “I’ll go get your drinks and be right back to take your lunch orders.”

He’s true to his word. As he carefully sets the cups and glasses in front of each woman, he calls her by name and recites the contents down to the last detail. “No straw, right Adele?”

Now it’s time for the big decision: what to eat. Again, Eric focuses on each of the four women in turn, asking first if she’d like him to fasten her clothing protector, basically an oversized bib. Not a requirement, just an offer. The food selection process can be s-l-o-w, but he’s patient as she ponders her choices. He helps navigate the day’s printed menu. Cottage cheese plate? Beef stroganoff? Chicken/broccoli casserole? If she can’t decide between the fish fingers and the turkey in gravy, Eric might gently suggest considering a half-order of each. But he leaves her in control, her dignity intact.

Eric has the advantage of a man’s lower voice, which cuts through hearing loss. He doesn’t have to shout to be heard. And he avoids forced levity, that unnaturally chipper tone people often use when talking to children or the elderly.

There are other lunch servers in the room, but it’s Eric I watch. With each interaction, he makes the residents’ lives a bit better, the atmosphere a little warmer. Small kindnesses matter.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.


Posted in Aging, Volunteering | 4 Comments

Make mine music

“Are you a volunteer?” The question came from Jason, a young man helping assisted-living residents back to their rooms following my performance.

I said I was. “That’s so cool,” he replied.

Why, thank you.

I’ve tried a lot of volunteer work over the years: transcribing print books into braille, delivering surplus food from restaurants and grocery stores to soup kitchens and homeless shelters, organizing a cancer resource library. But in the end I decided to concentrate on music.

piano sculpture

Jason asked if the type of music I play—American standards from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s—is my “specialty.” I thought for a moment. Yes, I guess it is.

Things haven’t always been that way. Before becoming a volunteer pianist, I played mostly classical music, along with Christmas carols, accompaniment for plays while in high school, and the occasional Broadway tune or popular movie theme.

Here’s a story to illustrate just how little I used to know about songs from the era that has now become my focus. About 40 years ago, when I was in my early 20s, I was visiting my in-laws in the Detroit area, and my father-in-law invited me to try out their grand piano.

As I sat down, he asked, “Can you play for a quarter?” Or at least I thought that’s what he asked.

Turns out, his question was actually “Can you play Cole Porter?”

Who? I was clueless.

So, you see, I’ve come a long way.

When I retired and came up with the idea of playing the piano for older audiences, I knew I wanted my programs to have emotional appeal and bring back memories of times past. At first, I pulled my set lists from a small pile of sheet music that had been passed down through my family, songs popular when my dad and his sister were young.

To expand my repertoire, I started checking out songbooks from the library and buying them at used book stores. I looked for vintage sheet music at estate sales. Along the way, I learned a lot about “The Great American Songbook,” which is not really a songbook at all. It’s a label used to refer collectively to the popular songs from the first half of the 20th century, songs by lyricists like Dorothy Fields and Johnny Mercer. Songs by composers like Irving Berlin, George Gershwin, Hoagy Carmichael and, yes, Cole Porter.

After 12 years, my work as a volunteer pianist has expanded into a part-time job, albeit an unpaid one. I drove more than 1500 miles last year to bring music to residents of retirement communities and senior facilities.

I still play classical music, but not for my volunteer gigs. My older audiences want to hear selections from The Great American Songbook. I know because they tell me so: We like that you play our music.

It’s nice to have found my niche.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Audiences, Music and emotion, Volunteering | 2 Comments

Things you say and do just thrill me through and through

“You’re pretty good on that piano, young lady.”

Wayne was in his usual spot at a table near the front, wearing his usual outfit of plaid shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. He’s a talkative 91-year-old World War II veteran who keeps up a steady patter while I play. Wayne and his wife used to sit together. She died, so he sat alone for a while. He has short-term memory lapses and can get on people’s nerves. One memorable hour, he sat only a few feet from the piano and told me after every song, “I used to play steel guitar.”

An extrovert like Wayne needs company. Enter Wilma, also widowed. A few months ago, I noticed she started joining Wayne at his lunch table and they talked about the music, about old times. She was patient with his repeated “I used to play steel guitar.”

Wilma is a beautiful octogenarian with bright eyes and a flawless rosy complexion, which she swears is the effortless result of soap, water, and moisturizer. We should all be so lucky. She takes great care with her clothing. The day this story took place, she wore pale lavender slacks and sweater, with a matching beaded necklace and a big flower brooch. Her white curls looked soft as whipped cream.

As Wayne and Wilma ate lunch and I played in the background, I heard him ask her several times, “Wanna dance?” She seemed tempted, but not sure if she should. They kept debating, through “Oh Johnny Oh,” “It’s Only a Paper Moon,” and “Side by Side.”

When I announced I would play two more songs and then wrap it up, he tried one last time: “We should dance.”

Wilma relented. “Okay, a slow one.

I selected Tommy Dorsey’s theme song, “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You,” from among the sheet music I’d brought with me. It was written in 1932 by George Bassman, with lyrics by Ned Washington. It’s the only song Bassman is remembered for, while Washington penned words for many successful tunes, including “My Foolish Heart,” “The Nearness of You,” and “Stella By Starlight.”

The aides pushed aside some empty tables to clear a little dance floor. Wayne and Wilma started tentatively, but were soon in sync. He worked in a couple of twirls. And gave her a smooch when the song was over.

The activities director captured the moment with her camera phone. “For our newsletter,” she said. Other staff passing through stopped to watch the duo. This is the kind of thing that makes their day worthwhile. One aide commented, “When I’m old, I hope I’m blissfully in love like that.”

If there’s an upside to Wayne’s memory loss, it’s this: Each time he’s with Wilma, he gets to fall in love all over again.

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Audiences, Dancing, Dementia, Music and emotion, Volunteering | 3 Comments

Wired for sound

“We had a big-band performance here last night,” Fay told me. “I liked the music, but I was wearing my hearing aid and I had to turn it off.”

Betsy chimed in. “I stuffed Kleenex in my ears.” She was determined to stay at the concert, and she didn’t want to offend the band members, who all volunteer their time to entertain seniors. “I rolled the tissue into little balls so you couldn’t see it sticking out of my ears.”

Oh, the aural challenges of growing older.

The type of hearing loss most of us experience as we age is called “presbycusis.” With this condition, lower-pitched sounds like vowels still come through pretty well. But high-pitched sounds like the consonants “s” or “f” or “p” don’t carry as much acoustical power and become increasingly difficult to hear. Discriminating between words gets harder. A person with presbycusis can often hear what is being said, but can’t understand it. Everyone seems to mumble. The high voices of children or the chirps of birds might not register at all.

Hearing aids can help with presbycusis. But because they are designed primarily to improve speech perception by amplifying the higher-pitched sounds, they often don’t pick up the lower frequencies of music.

Music ends up sounding distorted, with some notes too loud, other notes inaudible. Music just doesn’t sound the same as it used to, my elderly listeners tell me.

Here’s how an article in the Spring 2016 issue of Audiology Practices explains why hearing aids “fail to deliver”:

“All hearing aids … use microphones…. And all microphones have three annoying characteristics: they pick up what is loudest, they pick up what is closest and they have absolutely no idea which sound is important to the listener.”

When I play the piano for an older audience, I try to find the sweet spot, a middle-of-the-road volume that isn’t too loud for those wearing hearing aids. My music also needs to be loud enough to reach those who, despite not hearing well, don’t wear hearing aids. For them, most sounds are muffled or faint and they’d like me to crank up the music a bit. I get complaints from both camps, sometimes during the same performance.

It’s a delicate balance, and I do my best to make adjustments.

Can you hear me now?

Copyright © 2016 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey
All rights reserved.

Posted in Aging, Audiences, Piano performance, Volunteering | 5 Comments