My Father-In-Law, Peter, had the soul of a gypsy. Over the course of his life, he owned
property in three different countries, Serbia, Germany and Hungary, and made a
sincere effort to put his foot down on the soil of as many other places as he
could. I seriously doubt there is anyone
on the planet that, within a few minutes of meeting him, wasn’t a friend for
life regardless of whether they shared a language or not.
In the Catholic countries, the Name Day is almost more
important than the birthday. Flowers are
exchanged and meals with friends and families are enjoyed. Tomorrow is Saint Peter-Paul day. It will also be the first that we will
celebrate without Peter. He succumbed to
cancer and complications related to diabetes in October of last year. This
could quite possibly be one of the most difficult posts I have put up on this
page – so bear with me if it doesn’t reach my usual level of self-disparagement.
Z will tell you that her most vivid memories revolve around
food (about witch she is currently writing a cookbook/memoir – available soon on
an Amazon Kindle near you!). As you
might have guessed, mine are more focused upon musical experiences. I have many fabulous memories of Peter and
music – he was a fellow enthusiast. In
honor of his Name Day, I would like to share a memory of my favorite two:
A couple of years back. Lojos-Baci was celebrating his 70th
birthday. As is the case in these things
around these parts, a band was hired. In
this case, the Primas of the ensemble was the first-call
violinist for the film
studios in Budapest looking for traditional Roma style playing. My family all know I play, and events like
this are command performances anymore. The
expectation is that I will show with a horn and sit in with the band. This group was so good, and the level of
musicianship so overwhelming that I ended up playing with them for several
hours. Through it all, I could see Peter
with the largest grin on his face, talking me up to his friends and relatives,
dancing, and singing along with the tunes he knew. He talked about that party wherever we
went. As much as I enjoyed playing (and
it was really cool), it was clear that he had a way better time.
We go to the Wine Fest every year just before we leave – it is
one of the last things we enjoy before getting on the plane home. For the last five or six years, the last bit
of entertainment has been the troop from the local community theatre performing
the biggest tunes from operetta. You may
not be aware of this, but Hungary is a hot spot for the form, and although,
sadly, not many of them get performed in the States, they are masterpieces of
the form – every bit as funny and charming as Gilbert and Sullivan or Strauss. Z and I always had a task that last evening –
to get a table close enough that Peter could see the stage and costumes and
all. He would join us just before the
performance began, and for the next two hours or so, he and Z would sing along
at the top of their lungs with the crowd and the stage. Mere words cannot capture the joy he was
experiencing in that moment.
Peter has settled down now.
His ashes are in the family crypt in Kishegyes. But as long as we hold onto his memory and
tell his story, he still will be a gypsy in the world.
If you think about it, please throw a buck or two at the Cancer Society in his name when you next get a chance - they do good work over there.
Because I hate ending this post on words – here is a medley
of the operetta tunes as performed by a friendly accordion player at the wine
fest last week (because Blogger is stupid that way, you'll have to go over to YouTube). Peter was, I’m sure,
singing along.
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