I played the piano last week. It was the 4th of July, and we were at my in-laws. My MIL knows that I (used to) play, and she made me promise that if she ever got a piano, that I would play for them. Even though I agreed, I hoped I would get out of it somehow because I'm somewhat reserved. That and I haven't touched a keyboard in years. She got a piano. And it is beautiful. She wasted no time in finding me a book of familiar choruses and there I sat. "Just suck it up and play", I told myself. "No one will care if you stumble a bit." So I did. They keys are new and shiny and smooth. The instrument has a beautiful tone. Everything came flooding back with each note I played. Memories of practicing for hours, and finding solace in music when nothing around me made sense filled my mind. And the more I played, I didn't want to stop. I spent years practicing, taking lessons, even teaching little kids the basics of music. If I had gone to college I would have studied piano in some form. It was a love of mine.
After that afternoon, I came home and dug the few music books out that I brought with me when I moved across the country a few years ago. They're out where I can see them now. They are my inspiration to find an old piano somewhere and bring it home. I want to play again.