A Bushel

For many, many years growing up I was forced to take piano lessons. And when I say forced I mean FORCED. I once tried to throw myself down the stairs so that I would break my hand or wrist or arm or anything that would prevent me from making the trek up the hill to the dreaded piano teachers house. It could have had something to do with the fact that 1)she was mean and would poke my wrists with pencils so I would curve them more, 2)her daughter wore my old clothes and it creeped me out cause her daughter looked like a troll doll, 3) she made me wash my hands in her basement utility sink with dish soap before touching her beloved thrift store piano, 4)lessons were in her basement which smelled musty and old and I swear I remember a cockroach or two running across my feet-although I am pretty sure that my feet didn't touch the ground that they don't have cockroaches in Alaska (maybe they were mice!) but whatever, you get the mood of the basement.

My point is-I was FORCED to play the piano. I hated it. A lot.

Until one day I discovered that I could play the piano!

I could sit down at the piano with an unknown piece of music in front of me and I knew the language.

I get to create beauty when I sit down and play the piano.

I play and I remember that a) I CAN create beauty and b) that I do have at least one talent that I can touch, taste, and smell (okay I know but you get the point-tangible).

Although the early years of me half rolling half scooting down the stairs in hopes of breaking something were not all that beautiful (funny yes beautiful no) the result is a 30 year old woman being able to create a moment of beauty amongst choas (chaos being a child on each end pounding away during a Bach concerto- but really what's a few extra notes in one of those anyway!).

It is a beautiful escape.