The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
Sally Field’s worst on-screen kiss in her decades-long career might be a surprise to most
I have always thought Sally Field was amazing. She is an actress of legendary caliber. In addition, the 76-year-old has a long history of on-screen romances.
As a result, she has received her fair share of kisses on TV. Though at first she was reluctant to reveal whose costar it was with, she finally revealed which has been the worst.
Sally Field, regarded as one of the most gifted and adaptable actors of her generation, has had an incredible Hollywood career. Her legendary roles in a number of movies and television shows have won us over.
She gave an amazing performance in Steel Magnolias, for instance, and the funeral scene is something I will always remember.Sally portrayed a woman torn by love, disappointment, hatred, and loss, and she did a fantastic job at it.
She is, of course, also well-known for her parts in popular television shows and films, including Erin Brockovich, The Flying Nun, Gidget, Forrest Gump, and Sweet and the Bandit.
In Pasadena, California, Sally was born into a working-class family in show business.
However, her early years were everything but idyllic. Sally claimed in her memoirs that she was abused by her stepfather and that, when she was seventeen, she had a covert abortion.
Still, she proved to be such a kind, modest person.
As of right now, Sally is still going to work every day. In the 2020 television series Dispatches From Elsewhere, she portrayed Janice. She will play Jessie Buss in the widely watched television series Winning Time: The Rise of the Lakers Dynasty in 2022, which depicts the personal and professional life of the Los Angeles Lakers in the 1980s.
It is therefore not surprising that Sally occasionally appears in interviews given how active she is.
After a fan asked a pointed question, beloved icon Sally Field opted to share her worst on-screen kiss with the world on Thursday, Dec. 1 episode of “Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen.”
Upon hearing the question, Field, 76, looked around and laughed, saying, “Oh boy.” Do I really need to name names here?
“I believe you should,” 54-year-old Cohen answered.
Field gave in and said, “All right. This is going to surprise you. Hold on, people.
The Oscar-winning actress accused actor Burt Reynolds, her ex-boyfriend, of being the guilty party.
Cohen asked, “But weren’t you dating at the time?” with prompt follow-up.
Field clarified that she was required to “look the other way” when filming “Smokey and the Bandit.” This, according to her, “just wasn’t something he really did for you.”
“Isn’t that something?” Cohen asked, seeming shocked.
The actress continued by saying that Reynolds did a lot of “drooling” while they were on screen together.
While filming “Smokey and the Bandit,” the two co-stars got to know one another in 1977. They dated for almost five years after that.
According to the New York Post, Reynolds discussed his friendship with Field in his memoir But Enough About Me. Reynolds tragically passed away at the age of 82 from cardiac arrest.
The celebrity said he regretted their time together and wished he had done more to try to mend their relationship.
Field gave Variety an explanation in March for why she had stopped communicating with Reynolds throughout the last 30 years of his life.
She went on, “He was not someone I could be around.” “He was simply not a good fit for me at all. Additionally, he had somehow created the illusion that I was more significant to him than he had previously believed, even though I wasn’t. All he wanted was the thing that he was without. Simply put, I didn’t want to handle that.
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