Welcome to my little ol' blog. I'll be upfront about it: I don't blog very often any more. If you found your way here because you read my book "Trailer Life," have a gander! But it's easier to keep up with me on Instagram or on my Facebook page. I have this long, drawn out theory on why I'm a terrible blogger, but that is a story for another day. Enjoy the ramblings of my life from the last 8 years or so.

Monday, March 29, 2010

The Piano and Me

I sat down to play the piano in church for Mindi, and I noticed my cousin April sitting at the other piano. She plays beautifully, and without wrong notes. She sat down and said, "This looks easy" and began to play the introduction of my song. The piano I was at didn't have that place where you put the music, so I had to lay my music flat on top of the piano, where I couldn't see it. I tried playing a note here and there, hoping to blend in with April. Mindi was singing the song, and doing a really great job. Everyone in the chapel was listening attentively. All of a sudden, April stops playing, and looks at me with arched eyebrows, like "It's all you now! Go for it!" I attempted to pick up where she left off, but I had no idea where she was. And remember, my music is laying flat on the piano, so I'm half standing to see it. Mindi turns around at the microphone to look at me, and she had this look of panic and a "Why aren't you playing?" expression on her face. I turn the page, and my music falls to the ground. I scramble to pick it up, and Mindi tells me, "It's okay, we're done." I reply "No, we're not. You only sang half the song!" Everyone in the audience was kind of shaking their heads.

Then I woke up. And was sweating. And I was in a panic.

It was the middle of Saturday night, and I hadn't really played the piano yet.

When I woke up for real on Sunday morning, I started getting everything ready. The kids were normally behaved, but we seemed to be running a little late despite my best efforts. To add to my self-inflicted drama, I couldn't find my shoe yesterday morning. The kids were ready for church. We had to leave a little early so Mindi and I could run through the song a couple of times beforehand, and I could not find my shoe. It was like the straw that broke the camel's back, and I thought I might be having a heart attack. The kids were looking everywhere for it- funny how I live in a very small trailer, shoes can't hide very many places. And the fact that the kids were playing with my shoes... and now one was missing... and we were going to be late... and I needed to practice... oh, it was not pretty. I'm pretty sure my I scared my kids with an inhuman growl of "Find my shoes, now. Or we will not be going to church today..." I was moving furniture, throwing things around, emptying drawers... all in search of my flat sandals. I learned awhile ago that flat shoes are much better for playing the piano. When the shoe never appeared, I sent the kids to the car, and sat down on the bed and hyperventilated. Ryan calmly asks what is wrong, and when I gasp, "I...can't...find...my...shoe..." he says, "Um, can't you wear a different pair?"

"Yes, I could, but it's not the same." Then I knew in my heart that my dream of not being able to play the piano hinged solely on my footwear.

I put on some heels and drove to church, knowing that I was going insane.

15 minutes later Ryan came into church with my missing shoe. It was under the trash can.

I played. And, not well. But the music didn't fall on the ground, Mindi didn't quit singing in the middle of the song, and my shoes only helped.

Moral of the story: Shoes ARE important. And, I might be mental.

No comments:

Post a Comment