“A Hundred Years, 2014” by Jackie Grimaldi and Madeleine Vail (Detail of goat, which is similar to David Taylor’s little “S’Tinker”)
Goat Rodeo By Melissa VanArsdale “SNAP!” “Dagnabbit!” One of my strings broke while tuning my violin. I have a packet of synthetic strings, but I prefer the warm, rich sound of my catgut strings like Pops used to make for me from sheep. As Pops would say, “nothin goes to waste on the journey of life, or death.” I think he added that death part to justify slaughtering sheep. I remove all the strings to replace when I hear “tap, tap, tap.” I’m excited, because I know it’s my parents, who traveled to New York City to attend my recital. I open the door to invite them in to my dorm. Dad’s sundrenched face is as tough as leather. He’s wearing new stiff blue jeans and brown corduroy blazer. “Doesn’t your dad look nice?” said mom It probably took a lot of convincing on my mom’s part to get him into a blazer. “Mom cleans up well too, right?” said dad. Probably the only complement she’s gotten from him in a long time. Mom’s skin is soft and slightly kissed by the sun with a few fine lines. Her salt and pepper hair is swept up into a pony tail and she’s wearing a navy t-length dress with flats. Dad wraps his arms around both my mom and I, tucking my nose into his shirt and I smell the rich soil from home. For a brief moment I’m no longer in the city. Mom hands me a small box wrapped in yellow cloth quilting scraps. “A gift from Pops.” said dad I wish Pops traveled with my parents, but he never forgave me for all the years he spent teaching me how to play the fiddle only to have me call it a violin and move to the big city. “Go ahead, open it. Looks like you could use it.” said Dad I opened the box.
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