A lifetime of preparation

For as long as I can remember, I've played the piano. I'm told I stood at the end of the piano and watched during my older sister's lessons. My mom was my first teacher until I started my own formal lessons at age 5. After my half day of Kindergarten I'd walk down the dirt road to my teacher's house. I still remember one of my first pieces:

Ladybug, ladybug, flyaway home. Ladybug, ladybug, fly home.

Our piano, an old upright inherited from my great grandmother, was in the basement of our home along with The Fruit Room (our food storage room). Whenever I was sent downstairs to get a bottle of peaches or can of green beans for dinner, I would walk to The Fruit Room by way of the piano as an excuse to practice my favorite piece. After a few times through I would remember the food, but couldn't resist looping one more time by the piano to play a little more. My first favorite I remember memorizing and playing on repeat:

Oh when the Saints go marching in

Oh when the Saints go marching in

Oh how I'd like to be in that number

When the Saints go marching in.

Time has passed since my first years of piano lessons, but one thing remains constant: I still get sidetracked when walking by my piano and have to tell myself "okay, last time through" when playing through my current favorite. 

Here's to the child in all of us. May we never stop playing. 

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