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| Uncle Bruce & I having a piano lesson photo op. |
This is a eulogy I wrote and read at my Uncle Bruce Macdonald's memorial service this morning. He passed away September 13th, 2016 in his 81st year. In answer to multiple requests for copies of what I read, I'm posting this tribute to a life well lived.
Music has been a big part of life in the Macdonald family over many years. It’s a gift bestowed on all of us through generations of custodians. I have clear memories of musical influences from my Grampa Macdonald and all six of my maternal uncles.
I treasure memories of: watching Grampa's hands flying over the piano keyboard, singing in the church choir to spend time with my Uncle Glen; joining in a jolly chorus of Santa Claus is Coming to Town or Jingle Bells when my Uncle Murray performed his volunteer activities at Christmas; hearing my Uncle John play the piano in various bands and especially at family gatherings; traveling to Michigan to attend an amateur performance of The Sound of Music featuring my Uncle Ross as Captain von Trapp; attending a performance of my Uncle Doug’s barbershop ensemble, and studying piano with my Uncle Bruce, not just once, but twice in my lifetime
Like many of you, I was born into this large, boisterous and musical family, and during my earliest years Uncle Bruce loomed large. He and my Auntie Marion lived in the upstairs apartment of our home on Samuel Road; and, before they were blessed with a family of their own, they rather took a shine to me. Uncle Bruce told me many times over the years that he spent considerable time trying to record the sound of my early baby babbling on tape. Rarely successful, he lamented that I usually stopped vocalizing altogether, whenever the microphone approached my mouth.
I remember having special relationships with most of my Macdonald cousins, and Kathy and Jim were no exception. I spent a lot of my young years visiting the house on Maple Avenue for swimming, ice skating, sleepovers, and just hanging around. That meant also spending a lot of quality time with Uncle Bruce and Auntie Marion, who always made me feel at home. The welcoming presence of Uncle Bruce’s string bass in the corner of the dining room or front hall, depending on where he was living, remains with me to this day.
At some point, Uncle Bruce succeeded Grampa Macdonald as my piano teacher; and, he spent several pleasant years, once a week, beside me on the piano bench. He guided me through the basics of the Leila Fletcher piano method; and, through his instruction, I managed to complete books 1, 2 and 3 and made a start on book 4. I still have my completion certificates from the back of each book, dated and signed, Bruce Macdonald; and, I can still play Journey by Train and The Captain’s Song from memory, all these years later.
I looked forward to Christmas Eve at Uncle Bruce’s home on Ottawa Street South, when he took over the family home in which he grew up. The casual drop-in affairs for friends and family always ended with a rousing sing-song of Christmas carols that I can still hear in my head. I love watching old videos of family get-togethers, with Uncle John on the piano and Uncle Bruce playing Uncle Glen’s ukulele. Happy moments like those cannot be bought, they just have to happen.
Uncle Bruce tuned our pianos: the giant antique on Samuel Road, the apartment sized replacement, and most recently my 4 foot 11 inch Yamaha Grand on Bettina Avenue. Piano tuning days were always looked forward to because it was a chance to visit and catch up, as much as it was a useful service. I couldn’t take my eyes off Uncle Bruce while he worked his magic with the tuning fork, rubber mutes, red felt, and tuning hammers and levers. Most of all, I loved the mini-recital at the end, when Uncle Bruce tested out his handy-work.
I met my first husband through both my cousins Kathy and Jim, and our life together grew out of Phil’s close relationships with both of Uncle Bruce’s children. Phil never called Uncle Bruce "Mr. Macdonald" or even just "Bruce": He always referred to Uncle Bruce as "Mr. Bruce", even after we married, out of genuine respect and affection.
Several years ago, Uncle Bruce consented to try to teach me Uncle John’s jazz method of piano playing. I dutifully attended lessons at his and Miriam’s apartment once a week for a couple of years, and practiced very hard in between lessons; however, I think I was just too old to be able to grasp and retain the complex chord structures involved. I learned a few songs, and I can play rather awkwardly some of what I learned, but not well enough to lead a family sing-a-long, I’m afraid.
Not to worry, though: We enjoyed the adult time spent together immensely, and got to know each other better as friends. I was surprised by the discovery that Uncle Bruce did not possess the skill of being able to play both treble and bass clefs from sheet music, as he’d taught me during his first stint as my piano teacher. He admitted that he could only play well, the lead line and chords, as taught to him by Uncle John.
During these later piano lessons, I became much better acquainted with Uncle Bruce’s second wife, Miriam. I discovered that Uncle Bruce was fortunate to have found love twice in his life. Lucky for all of us, Miriam is a warm and wonderful woman, who frequently injects comical and musical moments, to lighten any situation she encounters. Uncle Bruce and Miriam always made me feel very welcome in their home.
Some time ago, Uncle Bruce passed a special gift on to me: He gave me Uncle Glen’s ukulele, which he had been safeguarding since Uncle Glen’s passing. I promised to not only continue to safeguard the instrument but also to learn to play it. Thus began the arduous task of teaching myself how to play simple standards and hymns, so that I might eventually be able to show him some progress. I went to The Clarian often in the last few weeks, to play for Uncle Bruce; and daily, the last few days he was with us. I hoped my halting chord changes and occasional squawking notes didn’t torment his sensitive musician’s ears.
I’m relieved that Uncle Bruce’s long suffering is over; though, I know his two remaining siblings, Uncle Doug and my mother Olive, will miss him terribly now that he’s gone. I know they both had a special bond with their youngest brother, the baby of the eight children born to Clarence and Lillian Macdonald. Sadly, we’ll never again hear Uncle Bruce and my mother singing Silent Night in harmony together; but happily, the memories of their perennial duet remain.
Remember, I mentioned earlier about Uncle Bruce trying to record my voice, when I was first learning to vocalize? Well, this past Thursday, at the cemetery when his ashes were interred, I was charmed by Uncle Bruce’s great-grand-daughter Kendall, who could be heard innocently babbling to herself in her stroller: I thought how much Uncle Bruce would have appreciated the joyful lyrical sound of her voice.
I believe that music helps us remember the happy times and makes the hardships of life more bearable. Thankfully, the Macdonald family’s musical legacy passed through the gifted heart and hands of David Bruce Macdonald, our loved father, grand-father, great-grand-father, husband, brother, uncle, fellow musician, teacher and friend.
Hopefully Miriam and Kathy and Crissy and all the rest of us who loved Uncle Bruce, will be sustained and comforted by the music and by the memories.
Love you, Uncle Bruce!
