Skip to main content

Happy Birthday


...to Frederic Chopin, born in Poland on this day in 1810. I learned to love his music when my sister gave me an album of Chopin piano concertos for Christmas--I must have been 15 or 16, and I wore the thing out on the old hi fi. Sometimes when I have time to just sit at the piano and play my old crumpled up music from those years, I like to pound out Chopin pieces--I use the word "pound" correctly here because I play it so poorly, but to my ears, it's joy.

He died young, but he started early, so it's fair to say his life was a full one. Here is a quick 3-minute etude. Enjoy.

Comments

dive said…
I love the idea of Chopin being "pounded" out, Robyn.
I would dearly like to hear that.

Happy Birthday, Fred.
9:22 AM
Neponset River Bridge Dig said…
robyn - with all of these birthday tributes there should be a lot of grateful dead people around. ;)
12:05 PM
Sassy Sundry said…
Happy Birthday. Sigh... What wonderful music.
2:42 PM
Utsav said…
You do commemorate a lot of birthdays, Robyn. I don't follow as much Chopin as Mozart or Bach, but it's lovely music nonetheless.
3:10 PM
Cheltenhamdailyphoto said…
Yes your birthday book must be bursting at the seams! Chopin - lovely. You say you play it poorly. Let us listen and judge; my guess is that it would be great.
4:10 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...
21 comments
Read more

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...
20 comments
Read more

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...
16 comments
Read more