The Miracle of Friendship

There is a painting of a wooden barn with a round stone silo. The light is glancing from a place low in the sky. It is probably around 5 pm on a long summer’s day. Looking at this painting by my friend Carrel takes me to the years I spent in Wisconsin and in particular to the farm owned by Carrel and her husband. The painting will be delivered to my house tomorrow and I am going to hang it in the hallway where I will see it every time I enter the house or walk from my bedroom to the kitchen.

I visited Carrel at the farm in Wisconsin last week. She and I played Mozart duets for several hours each day. She is also, like me, a pianist and teacher, and having the opportunity to make music with her after such a long time away was slaking a thirst I was unaware I had. Carrel plays the piano every single day as a way of keeping her increasingly arthritic fingers supple. I was happy and astonished at how fluid the running passages were and how musical her playing continues to be in spite of the physical challenges of being 87.

As we were playing, and indeed all the time we were together, we laughed and laughed. When I told her that nobody makes me laugh the way she does, she said that no one laughs with her the way I do. I felt good.