Naomi & Mel

I can't stop thinking about Naomi Schwartz, the volunteer we spoke to last night at the concert. Naomi was telling us about the history of Tanglewood and how it came to be a musical magnet in the late 1930's. How so many young people who studied there went on to have successful careers as musicians, singers, conductors, composers.

Naomi had silver-gray hair. She wore glasses. Her fingers were slender. I liked the way she tilted her head when she spoke to us.

"How did you come to volunteer here?" I asked.

"I never had to do it," she said, "because Mel did. I just came with him."

"Well, that sounds like a good deal," I said.

"I lost Mel two years ago," she went on, "and I thought, well, I guess it's my turn."

We're home now from our snapshot of a trip. I'm feeling a little like did we really get away? The air conditioners are humming; it's taking a long time for the house to cool down. Claire's asleep. Dad and my brother, Rob, are bunking upstairs. Michael's quietly tapping out a James Taylor song on the piano:

Well, the sun is surely sinking fast. And the moon is slowly rising. And this old world must still be spinning round, and I still love you.

I can't stop thinking about Naomi and Mel.