Jim Reardon
My mom was a character, and I know what you’re thinking: aren’t all moms characters, but I mean, she was a serious character. Perhaps no other possession she owned exemplifies this more than her ukulele. To her, this was not an instrument to be hung on a wall and never played. No, this was an instrument to be taken down to the pool in her new retirement destination in San Diego and entertain--without a shred of embarrassment-- the whole group unabashedly singing along with hits from the Roaring Twenties ranging from Old Hogan’s Goat to her signature melody, Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue. Now whether this was fueled by a nip or more of the alcohol she was never able to fully give up, or just the pure joy of music, we won’t ever know, and it probably doesn’t matter now.
My brother, sister, and I were all taught at some point in our childhoods to play that same ukulele, now a hundred years old and currently hanging on my wall. It was the seed that planted my lifelong love of the magic of music and was the original motivation for me to build the four ukes pictured with it. It’s one of my most valued possessions, coursing with memories and meaning far beyond the instrument itself.
Old wood, particularly wooden instruments, take on a patina with old age, a wabi sabi beauty of imperfection. My mother has long since passed, and as I move into my 75th year, I see my mom and my own aging having much in common with this old instrument; our own patina, the white hair, and the wrinkles rippling across our body. I see this as the way nature shapes all living beings.
As is evidenced in the picture, there is a significant hole in the ukulele’s side, broken in places like all of us, but even with its brokenness still capable of a beautiful sound. The tuning pegs, like our joints and tendons, are hard to move, the strings, like my legs, challenging to stretch. I see my mom in this little instrument every time I walk by and increasingly it is a mirror for me.
There are four new ukuleles beside this old one. They will be handed down to each of my four grandsons and I hope some day, when asked about it, they will say “My grandpa made that. You should have met him-- he was a character.”