I don’t remember the first time I heard Pachelbel’s Cannon in D, but I remember the first time I was aware of hearing it. We’d gotten a new kitten (my birthday gift to my husband-to-be) and Cannon in D came on the radio. I scooped up Spike and danced, twirling about the living room with her in my arms.
Against my wishes, my husband-to-be occasionally let Spike outside. We lived on a bus route and Spike was killed by a Pittsburgh City bus when she was just under a year old.
A week after Spike’s death, our best friends, Neal and Marie, told us they were moving away from Pittsburgh to Rhode Island and a few days later my parents’ best friend died. It was the worst week of my life (thus far).
One day when we were visiting Neal and Marie in their new home Marie put a record on the turntable. It was Pachelbel’s Cannon in D. I burst out crying. Everyone was shocked and none of us could figure out my reaction – but later I remembered having danced with Spike while that music was playing. So as much as I love Pachelbel’s famous cannon, my mood changes when hear it. I no longer burst into tears, but I’m temporarily transported back to a dance with kitten and stricken with a taste of bittersweet nostalgia.