Unpurchasability

A pleasant surprise on the radio yesterday, as I drove Cleo home from a walk and a visit to the post office: passages from Alexandre Tansman's 1951 Cavatina, which was arranged for guitar by none other than Segovia. The portions I heard were refreshingly meditative, and you can get a sense of the music, if through the lens of a slightly indulgent and pretentious performance, in online footage of Lorenzo Micheli. Just ignore the mannered head lolls and the affected parallels between Micheli's parted lips and those of Bernini's Teresa, and I bet you'll enjoy it.

While there are several videos of Tansman's work being played online, though, his music seems -to my real surprise - unpurchasable through ITunes. Is it really possible that the merchandisers at Apple hve yet to colonize this island in the archipelago of classical music? It seems so. Which, in turn, strikes me as a fact worth savoring for a moment. It's like the feeling of stumbling upon, while traveling, a warm trattoria or a pleasantly designed city sqaure that's simply not in your guidebook. Sure, the world is now largely catalogued and merchandised, but at least there are some real surprises along the way.

And that's a thought, in turn, that keeps me from becoming too cyncial as a parent. Leaf through the pages of the most recent copy of Parenthood magazine, and you'll find a colorful multi-page spread advertising the latest baby environments designed by FisherPrice - a spread that winds up, ironically, with the company knowingly telling us that "This is the moment to fill your home with love, not lots of stuff." Sounds good - at least until you remember that stuff is exactly what's being peddled: angled cribs; rainforest swings; activity centers for nine-month-olds.

Now, I'd be a hypocrite if I decried all objects marketed towards parents, for we've certainly benefitted from a small arsenal of plastic blocks, rubberized baby spoons, car seats, and so on. But we've also put up small barricades of resistance: in swapping toys with friends, recently, we managed to give Cleo a new range of options without having to visit a box store. But perhaps even more important here is, again, the realization that there are many valuable things that simply haven't yet been made, in China or elsewhere. A raspberry on the belly, to produce a high-pitched Cleo squeal? Well, they're free and they never break down. A game of peek-a-boo, with one of Mommy's scarves? The engineers at Mattel can't quite replicate it, in hard plastic.

Perhaps they'll figure out a way to, at some point. And I'm sure that recordings of Tansman will eventually crop up on ITunes. This morning, though, let's take a small delight in those things that cannot yet be bought, and yet can bring happiness.