I am down at the beach at Emerald Isle, North Carolina, with my friend Anne Harrison and her family. Yesterday morning Anne and I were chatting on the front deck of her house when suddenly Anne said, “Shush!”

“What?” I asked. “Why are you shushing me?”

“Shh,” Anne said, putting her index finger to her mouth. “Listen. Do you hear it?”

”Hear what?” I asked, straining my ears. “I hear frogs, crickets, a buzz saw, the wind, and the waves crashing on the beach. Is that what you mean?”

“It’s a hammered dulcimer,” Anne said. “Shh …”

“A hammer what?” I asked. I looked at the house under construction, across the street. Maybe the ‘hammer doolzi-mirror’ was a special kind of hammer, and they were hammering something inside the house.

I’M JUST LEARNING HOW TO PLAY THIS

Anne explained that one of her favorite musical instruments was the hammered dulcimer, a medieval stringed instrument that you play with two delicate mallets.

Somewhere nearby a person was playing a hammered dulcimer.

A moment later we noticed an elderly gentleman seated on the upper front deck of another house across the street. He had a music case open and was intently looking down at something in front of him. Soft, beautiful notes glided across the street and floated up to our ears.

Anne, her two sons, Logan and Daniel, and I formed a caravan and marched across the street. I called up to the gentleman, and he invited us up to his balcony.

“I’m Ed Durden from Chattanooga, Tennessee,” he said when we arrived, "and I’m just learning to play this.”

We were on the upper balcony, where we met Ed and his beautiful hammered dulcimer. Ed was as modest as can be. But he played us a couple of songs on his dulcimer and told us some of the basics about the instrument. After a few minutes he turned over the dulcimer to Anne and had her playing “Old Susannah.”

THE DEMENTIA WARD AS OFF-BROADWAY

“I was shy about playing this when I first began,” said Ed. “But I got my butterflies under control by playing to folks in the dementia ward at a nearby nursing home.”

“That’s a great idea,” said Anne.

“It worked fine,” said Ed. “No matter how badly I played, everyone loved it. It was a great confidence booster. I got my nerve up and began playing to people in the non-dementia wards.”

I asked Ed for permission to tell his story in this blog. “Of course,” he said. “And you can tell them this, too. See my license plate down there in the driveway. Do you see the picture of the dog on the plate? That dog is a corgi, a Welsh corgi. When I first began playing in the nursing home, I took my corgi in with me to give me courage. When I took him to the non-dementia wards he always barked and barked. But do you know what he did when I took him into the dementia ward?”

“No idea,” I said. “I hope he didn’t bite anyone?”

“Never. He was perfectly friendly. He never barked. He was docile as can be.”

“He knew,” Anne said. “He sensed something.”

“That’s right,” said Ed. “He was a sweet little dog. And everyone loved him.”

Some of this blog’s readers may be wondering if we ever found my Mom and Dad. We did, but not until late Saturday afternoon.

Just where where did we find Waldo … I mean, Babe!

You’ll remember that Janet and I were driving north from North Carolina on Saturday. It was a long, hot drive through heavy traffic on a Fourth of July weekend. When we had crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge into New Jersey, I called my folks at their Media telephone number. As I called, I bet my wife Janet that my parents would be out at their farm in Oxford, PA.

I was wrong! They were “in residence” at their little Media apartment, and Mom answered the phone. I told Mom that I had been worried, since I had called their three residences—farm, seashore house, and Media apartment—and hadn’t caught them anywhere. Mom told me not to worry. She said that Dad was just driving them around.

(In circles! I thought. But I didn’t say this to Mom.)

I told Mom we’d be in touch on Sunday. Right then Janet and I were headed to the seashore house to meet up with our daughter Catie and her boyfriend Dave Raymond.

The next morning, Sunday July 2^nd, we woke up at 5 AM and did a beach triathlon with Catie, Dave, my brother Tim and his son Andrew.

My cousin Dot D’Ignazio drove down and became our on-the-beach paparazzi. She chased us around shooting pictures as we did our swimming, biking and running. Then she raced to a 1-hour photo store and brought back pictures to present to us while we were still eating bananas and oranges on the beach.

Dad Is the Old Center of the Universe

On Sunday afternoon Janet and I drove up to Philadelphia and met our son Eric who was flying in from a wedding in Detroit. Eric arrived in Michigan last week from Japan, then spent four days visiting his friends and taking part in the wedding.

Yesterday morning, July 3^rd, we woke up and Eric decided that he wanted to go back down to the seashore. At first I was upset. I had gone to walk with Mom around Media, and when Eric called, and Dad and I were sitting on the front porch of his and Mom's apartment. I was looking forward to a leisurely day in Media. Suddenly, with Eric’s phone call, I was faced with another hot car ride—back to New Jersey where I had just come from the day before.

This is ridiculous, I thought. The whole reason I was in Pennsylvania was to see my parents and to make sure my children saw my parents. The day before, Eric had told us, fresh off the plane, that all he wanted to do was see his grandparents. Now, he was turning his back on his grandparents and heading down to the shore to see his sister Catie.

I was upset with Catie because she had arrived in Avalon and had told everyone that she wasn’t budging. She and Dave were tired of driving, and they were planning to spend the next several days just relaxing at the seashore. If people wanted to see her, they could drive to the shore.

This seemed very selfish of Catie. Why wasn’t she more interested in seeing her grandparents? Wasn’t that the whole point we were in Pennsylvania?

The New Center of the Universe

Then I realized that what Catie was doing was healthy. For days I had been frantically chasing after my father, trying to figure out where he was, trying to schedule a get-together with him and my children. And Dad is elusive. He confounded me at every turn. He wouldn’t be pinned down. I said we’d go anywhere so we could meet up with him and Mom. But he wouldn’t tell me anything.

Catie’s plan was to stop the rat race. She established a new “center of the universe” – the seashore. She made me realize that we don’t have to chase Dad around, wondering where he will be, listening to him say that he doesn’t want to be “found.”

At first I was upset. I thought: how disloyal. We’re got to stick with my Dad. But then I realized that it’s time to move on. We can try to meet up with Dad, but that just makes me crazy. It’s time to look to Janet, me and our kids. If we figure out what is best for us, we will be okay.

And Dad wil be okay, too.

Today we are down in Avalon with our children and with my sister-in-law Teri. We are having a wonderful Fourth of July holiday. This is where we should be. This is our new center of the universe.

We made it to Pennsylvania!

Last night we ate dinner with my parents at Dad’s restaurant, D’Ignazio’s Towne House, in Media. Janet and I watched in awe as my normally grumpy Dad was charmed by our 27-year-old son Eric. Eric is a fluent Japanese-speaking businessman who works in a Japanese firm in Tokyo. He flew into Philadelphia yesterday afternoon from Detroit. Dad and I have trouble exchanging more than a few words. Eric and Dad were in an intimate, head-to-head conversation for more than two hours.

Today I woke up at my sister-in-law Martie’s and immediately thought of my Mom. She normally walks each morning with my brother Tim. Tim was down at the seashore in Avalon, New Jersey. Maybe I could be Tim’s back-up and take Mom for a walk in Media. I called Mom. She was still in bed. It was 8:30. She said she’d be ready in 15 minutes.

I jumped out of bed, took a shower, and drove to Media to meet Mom.

We walked all over Media. Mom was my guide. I was born in Media, and I walked on streets this morning that I have never seen in my life. Mom never grew disoriented or confused. “Turn right here,” she said. “Go straight up this alley.” “Turn left here.” She didn’t miss a beat.

We had breakfast at the Trolley Stop Restaurant on State Street in downtown Media. Mom and the waitress acted like old friends. Mom knew it was Monday, the day before July 4^th. She and the waitress agreed that it was so quiet because all of the citizens of Media were on vacation, partying with their families.

I asked Mom about her jewelry. She told me the origin of all the rings, bracelets, and earrings. “How do I love thee,” Mom quoted from her necklace locket, “let me count the ways.”

I asked Mom how she felt about being almost 82 years old. She said, “I’m 82 years old, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So I just accept it."

I talked to Mom about her old house in Media. I asked her if she ever missed it. “No,” she said. “I don’t miss anything much any more. I just live each day, and I enjoy it.”