One euro in my pocket

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Nov 17

One euro in my pocket

Months ago, the management Liceu, always keep an eye to satisfy their volunteers needs, installed several lockers where we can keep the bag, the newspaper and clutching a bit the camera. The other thing like the coat, the umbrella and the two cauliflowers I’ve bought way to the theatre in the market must rest on the clothes rack. To use those lockers we need one euro.

Usually I forget to recover it making happy the next user. But recently, making a great mental effort I get accustomed to put the euro in my pocket before taking the bag. But at the end the result is the same, the euro never come back home.

Several times I’ve talked about my experiences on train often related with the music or rather with the musicians. Last Wendnesday at the El Clot stop a man gets in the train armed with a violin. Dreadful!

When my children were younger I wished they learn to play piano. Result: Nowadays the piano is something that I share with the cat, him with his legs, me with the duster. I remember with special “affection” the finish year school performances. The inevitable Mozart’s Minuet or Debussy’s “Claire du lune”Ave Maria (OMG! how many times I must listen that blessed “Claire de lune”).

But parents must be ready to resist that and worse things. There is always someone worse.

Not all instruments are the same. I remember a mother, a self-denying mother with five children, who was married with violinist. Her husband great desire was that all their children follow his career.

If you touch a piano key it sounds, another matter is how this sound engages with the following one. About this matter my cat needs to learn a lot enough. The violin is different.

To get one note, only one, needs time, a lot of time listening the strings yelling and groaning.

The distance between Clot and St. Adrià stops is the longest, I have had a lot of reasons to be frightened. But when the train closed the doors, a small miracle happened.

Through the window’s glasses the scenery was the same every day, industrial states, the not luxury La Mina neighborhood, all under a grey and cloudy sky. The perfect scenery for the melancholy Schubert’s composition.

Seated opposite me an American couple, just landed in Barcelona with the Jett lag reflected in their bags under the eyes, looked each other thinking what a great idea was spending their holidays in Barcelona. If Thursday somebody stole their bag, probably they change their opinion, but that would be on Thursday. Last Wednesday, thanks to my violinist, they fall in love Barcelona and themselves.

At the Sant Adriá stop my musician follow playing, the Ave Maria has not finished yet. And people approached him and bring some coins in the violin box before left the train.

Last Wednesday my euro don’t come back home.

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