Oh, yes, there was music and poetry and literature in my heritage, mostly German, with a bit of Scotch thrown in for good measure. So much so, that I don't even remember who those long lost ancestors are any more. When I'm gone, begolly, I'll have to ask them how in the world that young woman in the back got ahold of a sparkler!... And is that really the lead singer up front, center?

Anyway, there are stories to tell in all families, and here is the beginning of mine... Well, perhaps not the beginning, historically speaking, but as far as the keyboard is concerned, here is where we'll begin.

When I was about ready to begin school, I had already heard classical music throughout the apartment, the second floor above my beloved Oma. Oh, yes, by the time I was 10, I was playing "Le Gaite Parisienne," (Can Can) on my own, and by high school years I'd grown into Tchaikovsky, but it wasn't until later that I discovered Beethoven. What a discovery that was, almost like finding the Indians here, in our country... But I'm still only about 5 or so, and my favorite book right now is, Gerald McBoing Boing.

The thing about Gerald was that the only word he could say was "boing."... At least that's all he WOULD say... No matter what his mother tried to get him to say, you know, like Mummy, he just said, "BOING!"... She took him to the doctor, thinking he was sick or something... I bet she even went to the vet, in her hysteria to get him to speak words like other children. Now I'm suddenly much older and after emptying out the folks' house, I can't remember much more of the book, which I couldn't find among the myriad boxes and racks of records and books... sooooo... I'll try to make it up as I go along. I just thought you should know that that was my first favorite book.

Be sure you don't miss any chapters, since there are bound to be some pretty funny episodes, thrown in with all the digressions. No, I haven't been officially diagnosed with schizophrenia, but will accept the possibility of having trouble staying on the topic. Absentia Topicitis. I know it sounds like a lemon/lime fruit drink, but it's just a minor inflammation, compared to the schizes.

My first favorite song was, "How much is that doggie in the window, the one with the waggily tailllll?" Of course we didn't get a dog for a while, since Mom thought he might eat us kids. There was old Daisy, who was the most patient dog you can imagine. She'd go to the back porch door and just stand there, hardly seeing a thing, as she waited for someone to notice her and let her outside. She had those eyes that looked like cat's eye marbles, with the sparkling white depths to them. I wish I'd known her when she was younger, since she was probably good looking then.

So do you want to here a story about a mudpuddle?