I came across this video, ‘Salve Regina’, discovering the Estonian composer Arvo Part.  Here are words on the man:  Living in the old Soviet Union, Arvo Pärt had little access to what was happening in contemporary Western music but, despite such isolation, the early 1960s in Estonia saw many new methods of composition being brought into use and Arvo Pärt was at the fore-front…..Official judgement of Arvo Pärt’s music veered between extremes, with certain works being praised while others, for example the Credo of 1968, were banned…Arvo Pärt chose to enter the first of several periods of contemplative silence, also using the time to study French and Franco-Flemish choral part music from the 14th to 16th centuries…”a joyous piece of music” but not yet “the end of my despair and search.”…..Arvo Pärt turned again to self-imposed silence, during which time he delved back through the medievalism of his 3rd Symphony and through plainchant to the very dawn of musical invention. He re-emerged in 1976 after a transformation so radical as to make his previous music almost unrecognizable…The technique he invented, or discovered, and to which he has remained loyal, practically without exception, he calls tintinnabuli (from the Latin, little bells), which he describes thus: “I have discovered that it is enough when a single note is beautifully played. This one note, or a silent beat, or a moment of silence, comforts me. I work with very few elements – with one voice, two voices. I build with primitive materials – with the triad, with one specific tonality. The three notes of a triad are like bells and that is why I call it tintinnabulation.”  The homemade video accompanying Avo Part’s ‘Salve Regina’ mesmerized.  I found myself reflecting upon a childhood visit, a memory I had not experienced for decades.  I recalled as an elementary schoolboy visiting a farm.  The trip was with a good friend and his father, three of us.  I was always a bit uncomfortable with the father for he possessed a violent temper, several times during overnight stays beating the eldest son.  All three of his sons were familiar with his violent outbursts.  The father held me in esteem for he played high school football with my father, my father always praising him for his tremendous skills as a running back.  I never told my father how brutally he would beat his sons, especially the older one, often with me in the room pretending I was asleep.  There was another silent fact lingering throughout the encounters that is the suicide of his wife, the mother of his three sons.  The eldest son discovered her body coming home from school, shielding his brothers from entering the home, calling the police, handling everything.  I knew of the mother’s suicide, yet knew it was not to be discussed, not to be discussed with anyone.  Denny once told me the details and never again was it brought up.  During the lengthy daytrip to the farm, an adventure my good friend’s father talked excitedly about, I suffered a sense of gloom.  The farm appeared so muddy and run down, the barns and stables dilapidated and in need of maintenance and painting.  I wondered why the family did not take care of their farm.  The farm children were wild, one of the boys shooting at a cat with his pellet gun, all of them coarse and hard talking, daring me to take risky excursions, such as walking the top rail of a fence with pigs and mud on one side and horse manure on the other.  The horses appeared tired and old, worn out and beaten. I was informed there would be no riding of the horses because a cousin recently broke his leg riding one of them.  The relief during the day of just wanting to go home was the farmer’s wife, an obese woman, friendly and warm, giving with charm and bountiful food.  I could not imagine how the woman raised such abrasive and ornery children, although I did notice the father constantly drinking beer with my friend’s father.  In the homemade video, the black and white images, of the Estonian farm triggered the memory of the sad childhood adventure.  The little girl in the video, in the process of losing her innocence, awakening to surrounding ugliness, embracing her dead cat, warmed my heart.  Her falling asleep while holding her dead cat illuminated a spiritual poverty I am positive is necessary for an understanding of the love and mercy of God, the compassionate necessity of a Holy Mother watching over of us, praying for us.  The good friend, Denny, was killed shortly after high school, killed when an ATV he was driving overturned, throwing him headfirst into a tree.  His short life was a tragedy.  The oldest son turned out to be a successful entrepreneur, starting up his own plumbing company, while also jumping in during the early eighties with the startup of Subway sandwich shops.  He would eventually own a half dozen or so Subways.