Playing With It
I was thirteen. Or fourteen. Those hormonally challenged years all bleed together.
But, I was visiting my Mamaw in Eastern Kentucky. She took us to her country Methodist church. 10 people. No pastor. Met every fourth Sunday.
Of course, they had a piano. Upright. Out of tune.
Because they had a piano, I got volunteered to play a fancy piece for all 10 people in worshipful attendance. All of them were my relations, because, you know, it was Eastern Kentucky.
Mortified, I tromped to the instrument and banged out the right notes from memory. For close to five minutes, I made music the way it will sound in the hereafter. It was rapturous. I was so pleased with myself that I glanced over at the audience, and grinned like Liberace.
And forgot the piece. Every note evaporated from my dimwit mind, causing my diva-like, hormone-fueled emotions to spew buckets of tears out of my eyes, accompanied by lots and lots of wailing.
Quite a show. Everyone was so happy they got up for church that morning. Especially (not) me.
Fast forward to last night. MTM and I are in Beaufort, South Carolina for a Rotary event. District Governor Grand Poobah Ed Duryea and his wife Cindy are hosting us. Graciously, I might add.
So, when we walked into the house last night at almost 11pm, and Ed turned to me and said, “You play the piano. I’ve seen it online. You and Cindy go play for us. Right now.”……I did not feel like I could say no.
For about fourteen seconds, I regressed in my mind to those bawling minutes in the country church, before I sat down, took a deep breath, and played.
It’s easier to make mistakes in public when you’re older.
By the way, Ed and MTM insist that Cindy and I made no mistakes.