One spring twilight, when the town was quiet and lilac blossoms flirted with the breezes, I sat on our front-porch railing and strummed my ukulele. In the evening shadows, Ed Petersen, (Lucy's stepfather) leaning back in the hammock, gazed at me strangely.
"Am . . . am I disturbing you?" I asked, afraid that I had interfered with his rest. "Don't stop," he said. "You're getting very good on the ukulele. You've got the hang of it."
I couldn't believe anyone liked my music or would encourage me to play the ukulele, saxophone, or piano. I couldn't believe anyone even listened. But Ed egged me on.- Lucy in an article My Dearest Memories, 1966
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