Dot

People aren’t always what they seem.  The old cliché: “you can’t judge a book by its cover” is often true.

Barb and I retired about fifteen years ago and gravitated to Southern Arizona where we found a community of geezers.  Some were old, others older.  We were quickly accepted they became members of our extended family.

Some who wintered at this community called Why were musicians.  We were soon grateful that they had brought their instruments with them—guitars, violins, harmonicas, keyboards, there were two base fiddles.  Thursday night was concert night at the community hall.

One evening during the winter of 2000, as we were assembling for the concert, an aging lady arrived.  They called her Dot.  Barb and I were apparently the only ones who didn’t know her.  The spontaneous reunion reminded me of scenes from World War II movies where GIs renewed old acquaintances and shared experiences while on R&R.

It was soon revealed that she played piano and violin.  Glancing at her arthritic hands, I wondered how that was possible.  However, when it came her turn to perform she brought the house down.

I still wonder how that was possible.

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