dea's piano

Each of my daughters was exposed to music.

Each took piano or flute or cello lessons at one point or other. Then two of them stopped, other skills that were more to their liking.

Our two middle girls used to play for church often, one on the organ, the other the piano. One day in church, one of my dear friends leaned over and whispered: “The girls sound real good today. Must have cost you a fortune.”

We were too poor to have a fortune, but the lessons continued some way.

Today I am sitting with my MacBook on my knees in this tiny house in the Bay Area, and my wonderful daughter Dea is playing the piano, not just for me, but for her.

She has a piano here that belongs to a friend who didn’t have room for it. Dea was glad to “store” it. Her friends are unimpressed that she plays the piano quite well. Her family are equally unimpressed -- except for her father.

When she got the piano she called her sister who had their music and had it all sent down. Now as I hear her play, I remember pieces from when she was living at home, years ago.

Dea’s skills are not on the level of public performance (she devoted her life to other skills), and other than her adoring old dad, almost no one else really enjoys hearing her play.

But that is not the point. She plays the piano each day just for the joy of it. She does music because she loves it.

I wish we all could do what we do, not because it has insurance, or because it will provide retirement income, but just because of the joy of it all, because we love it.

Most of my life was spent at work that I was fairly skilled at, but I rarely found that real joy that would have made my work my real passion.

Play away, my child, I love to listen.