"Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent"

It's evening time. Dishes are done, homework is up to date, and I start to get into that "wandering mood". I walk past my sister who recently arrived home from Okinawa. Love struck Kristi--I can tell she is missing Joshua. Joey is being quiet--probably contemplating his big district basketball game that is happening the following night. Kaylie is off in the family room--watching something on the tv. I walk into the living room and there it is. That grand piano that has sat in solitude ever since my older sister left again for college. I sit down. And I proceed to do what I end up doing only a dozen or so times a year. I play. The few songs that I still remember from when I was forced to take lessons. One is my 8 year old made up version of Pachelbel's Canon, which is quite horrible, but which I doubt I will ever stop playing that familiar tune. Karin still laughs at me when I say I want it at my wedding. "It's so traditional, Kels!" she says

Eventually I get bored of playing the simple same songs over and over. I open the hymn book and try to play something from it. Times likes these when I wish I knew how to play and read music. I close the book. For the time being, I will have to be content with expressing myself through the plunking of Pachelbel's Canon, Fur Elise, the Minuet, and the intro to Vanessa Carlton's 1,000 Miles. I stop playing and get up from the bench. I probably won't touch those ivory keys again for awhile. That's just how it goes. But I'm thankful that it's always there-- ready and waiting for when I need it.