- I'm a volunteer pianist dedicated to bringing music to residents of retirement communities, assisted living centers, and memory-care facilities. Stories unfold around me when I play. I tell those stories here.
Category Archives: Reminiscences
My Uncle Brian continues to slip away, his brain addled by advancing dementia. You might recall the post I wrote in February about my uncle and his robotic puppy. Brian now lives in a small group home. He likes helping … Continue reading
My mother loved people, parties, and stories. She died in October 2014 after many years of poor health. A couple of months later, near the date of her birthday, family and friends came together to celebrate her life. We cried … Continue reading
Two things take me back to high school in an instant. One is the smell of Right Guard, the first aerosol deodorant. It came on the market in the 1960s, and was the predominant choice of teenagers gathered in the … Continue reading
When I was about 12, my dad built a television set from a Heath kit. He taught me how to solder the circuitry so I could help. When the tv was finished, he cut and framed a hole in the … Continue reading
I’ve never dreamed of living in Alaska, or even visiting the state as a tourist. Then in February my daughter moved from the San Francisco Bay Area to Eagle River, just north of Anchorage. In February. I thought that was … Continue reading
When I was 7, I learned this piece in my Teaching Little Fingers to Play piano book: The lesson introduced A-sharp, a black key, so that I could create chromatic buzzing. If you play a key on the piano, then … Continue reading
I play the piano in seven senior facilities now. The most recent added to my roster is a small assisted living center with about 30 residents. Things got off to a rocky start during my first visit. I took my … Continue reading
Happy birthday to my one and only! Copyright © 2015 by Paulette Bochnig Sharkey All rights reserved.
The calendar says that spring started almost 2 weeks ago, but mid-Michigan doesn’t have much to show for it. My grandfather used to recite a seasonal poem that started like this: Spring has sprung, The grass is riz, Where the … Continue reading
My mother used to tell me that I have no imagination. Maybe that was her way of expressing disappointment that I didn’t share her enthusiasm for arts and crafts. She loved knitting, making elaborate Halloween costumes, weaving, basketry, arranging flowers. … Continue reading