Patricia C (Cavanagh) Meier

Meier, Patricia C. of West Roxbury, June 9, 2025.Beloved and cherished wife of Robert D. Gaspari. Loving daughter of the late Martin and Florence (Staples) Cavanaugh. Patricia is survived by her loving brothers, Paul Cavanaugh of Chelsea and John and his wife Conny of Germany, as well as two nephews, Danny and Chris Cavanaugh. Pat also leaves behind many caring and loving friends. She will be greatly missed by all who knew and loved her.

Family and friends will gather for a visitation at the Robert J. Lawler and Crosby Funeral Home, 1803 Centre St., West Roxbury, on Saturday, June 21, from 1:00 to 4:00 PM. A Prayer Service will be held at 4:00 PM.

Donations may be made in Pat’s memory to 

Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation
223 West Jackson Blvd
Suite 350
Chicago, Illinois 60606

or online at www.pulmonaryfibrosis.org

“Take Five” – the Dave Brubeck Quartet.

By Patricia Meier

            I first heard this instrumental when I was about fourteen years old. It was a bright mid-summer’s day and I was out on my recently-acquired Raleigh bicycle, accompanied by my AM/FM radio held fast with a belt clip and headphones.

            I had ridden out to Weston from my hometown of Waltham to get to my riding lesson at Kendall Green Stables. The return trip into Waltham starts as a small country road which ends in a paved road (route 17) into Waltham’s West End. The start of that road turns into a steep, long run of asphalt where you could build up considerable speed. As I stood at the top of the hill, I adjusted my headphones, turned on the radio, and tuned into my favorite station. It was time for the jazz program. The DJ announced it was a track from Dave Brubeck’s album “Time Out” called “Take Five.”

            Pushing my bike to the edge of the road, where it started to take a downward slope, I waited for the music to begin. It seemed like there was nothing there. Did my batteries run out? Did the D.J. forget to cue in the music? And then I heard it—it was a piano and bass holding a 5/4 staccato beat. This beat would remain constant throughout the piece. It was the heart of it, the umbilical cord that tied all the instruments to it, the baton that was passed on to the individual entrances and exits of the alto sax and the drums.

            I was caught up in it now. I could feel the wind picking up, blowing in my face as I pedaled harder, and the bike picked up speed going downhill. I stood up on the pedals and felt my body start to sway to the music.

            Like a syncopated smoke, the alto sax entered the piece, causing my body to respond to the beat, swaying from side to side, a natural rhythmical response. When the sax started slowing, the drums took over, seamlessly, with trilling of the sticks lightly over the skin of the drum—it was electric, almost like a shudder, not the loud cacophonous sound usually associated with drums.

            My bike reached the mid-point of the hill and started to slow down. Inspired by the music, I threw my hands in the air and stood up on the pedals. The wind buffeted my face and blew my hair around. I took a deep breath and could feel the coolness go down into my lungs, swirling around. A really transfiguring sensation since I was already, at this age, a chronic asthmatic.

            I am still a chronic asthmatic at the age of 77. Today, I sit in the iconic recliner in my living room. I am surrounded by medicine and tissues and am on oxygen since I managed to acquire another, rare lung disease on top of my asthma. Non Specific Interstitial Pneumonia which, I have been told by every doctor and nurse I see, will eventually kill me.

            Fed up with the noxious diversion of TV, I decided to look through my CD collection since I had access to a disc player with a remote. Using my iconic Rollator, I shuffled over to the hutch where my music paraphernalia is kept and grabbed the first pile of CDs off the shelf. On top was Brubeck’s “Time Out.”

            I inserted it into the slot and picked track 3—“Take Five” and hit the play button. Sitting back in the chair, I waited. With the first notes my arms and head started swaying, transporting me back to that day on the hill. I felt again the music take over this old, damaged body. I could see the big, puffy clouds and blue sky. I even imagined feeling the breeze and took as deep a breath as I could manage. The music was taking me and I went with it.

            I played the track three more times. My day had changed for the better. I no longer felt so fettered by my body and my mind-set felt better, challenged at last, ready to listen and enjoy. It did not matter about my age or my illnesses—I felt alive—and that’s what it’s about!

            Can you dig it, daddio?