DADDY’S GOT A SQUEEZEBOX
Accordion Man was on the sidewalk in front of Shaw’s again one day last week.
He totally rocks the squeezebox. Eyes shut tight (he might be blind… or just really really into his music), he cranks out his happy Acadian music and collects money from passersby. I didn’t notice how much he’d collected, but I’m curious to know how much he pulls in.
As I went into the store, I enjoyed his passionate playing of folk songs he probably learned at his Mamere’s knee, growing up in a tenement near the canal in Lewiston’s Little Canada neighborhood.
I felt bad for not donating to his cause, but that feeling went away once I stood there in the aisle comparing prices of whole grain brown rice.
I abandoned dear old Uncle Ben ($2.79) in favor of sweet Carolina ($2.50), and wondered when THE PREVIOUS EMPLOYER WHO SHALL NOT BE NAMED planned on sending me that last paycheck for 56 hours they still haven’t paid me. (They since have, thank you very much.)
It’s tough all over.