arkitrave :: log

Warning: this is not a pick-me-up post.

This has not been a great week for me. My grandmother died over the weekend at age 92. It’s not as though it was a great shock; she had been doing poorly for a couple years and my family knew the end was near, but it is difficult nonetheless for us, and especially my father. I am flying to Minneapolis tomorrow for the service, which will be on Tuesday. My sister Kate has compiled some memories of Grandma. She will be missed, but we can celebrate her good long life and many happy memories.

This was not the low point of my week, however. On Tuesday evening, my friend Scott Parkinson died. He was 27, and it was sudden and unexpected. I had just spoken to him Monday; he and his wife Robin were going to come over for dinner on Wednesday, and he called to cancel, as they were too busy preparing to go out of town.

Autumn and I have known Robin and Scott since we moved to Buffalo three years ago, and have shared many good times together. He was a trombonist, she a bassoon player. My wife met Robin at one of their first gigs in the area. They hit it off, both being new to Buffalo, and we soon got together as couples. They were our favorite couple in Buffalo; we shared meals at each others’ homes, ate at some of Buffalo’s great restaurants, saw a few movies, hung out after Buffalo Philharmonic concerts, tasted great whisky, and talked architecture, food, music, woodworking, and home remodeling. They just purchased a gorgeous home in Buffalo, he won the job as the Principal Trombone for the Buffalo Philharmonic a few months ago, and they were about to leave for an annual music festival and visiting the family farm in the Midwest.

He leaves behind his parents, a sister, his wife’s family, the Orchestra, a host of friends across the country, and his wife, Robin. The two were a beautiful couple, and loved each other deeply. Scott was an amazing person - insanely talented on the trombone (Juilliard, The New York Philharmonic, Carnegie Hall, United Brass…), a skilled woodworker (he made Robin a bassoon-desk complete with cutouts and holes for reed-making equipment), an accomplished cook (with a mean marinara), a connosieur of fine whisky (which he delighted in sharing with friends), and one of the most genuine, kind, enthusiastic people I’ve ever met.

I count myself blessed to have known him, and my heart and prayers go out to his family and to Robin.