lullaby

There is a piano at this hotel.

It's funny, whenever I ask the person behind the front desk if I can play the hotel piano, their first response is usually just a flat-out no. And I let them say that. Because I am so nice. And because I have no control over them.

But then I smile. I act very kind. And I ask them one more time. Or ask when a good time to play their piano would be.

And most of the time, they respond with a why don't you play it right now?

And suddenly we are on the same team.

That happened tonight.

And settling down onto that bench, hearing the creak of the wood as I adjust to just the right spot, it's like coming home.

Actually, my piano bench at home has some leather on it. And when I was writing an essay for my Freshman Writing class at UArts, I mentioned something awkward like hearing the sound of the leather stretch as I sat down to play. My amazing teacher who opened my eyes to the importance of a thesis statement as well as the evils of passive voice, graded it and sent it back with a question. In red.

Do you always wear tight leather pants when you play the piano?

Point taken.

Specificity is invaluable, folks.

And no, I don't always wear tight leather pants when I play the piano.

Only sometimes.

Anyway, I played for a long time tonight. I wrote something, a song I guess, if it makes it that far. I really like the chorus, but have my reservations about the verses. So, we'll see. There's always more work to be done, isn't there? More things to make, which is good news. Something to fix your heart on, something to bring you hope.

But here is a lullaby I like to sing.

It brings me comfort. Makes me think of parents. Or God. But generally of being loved and cared for.