Bedroom Piano

I just got in from a girls evening with some of my best girlfriends.   My best friend coordinated it.    We had a lovely time tonight and I enjoyed catching up with everyone, even though the topics of conversation weren’t all that happy if you look at it from an outsider’s perspective…

One of my friend’s husband had a stroke in his forties.   He’s doing well, but it was significant and he’s been out of work for months recovering and may not return to work.    One of my other friends told us about her middle child, who is not as good in academics as her peers and the decision they’re making to send her to public school instead of the high-challenging private school her sister is already attending.

And then my best friend, who told a story of having a seizure when she was about ten and how she had to throw herself down three flights of stairs to get to her parents because her bedroom was on the top floor of their narrow townhome.    She tried banging the keys of the piano—yes, she told us, she had a piano in her room.    Was it any wonder she practiced enough to almost become a concert pianist when she was younger?

The Big Boy Update:  My son wanted Uncle Jonathan and me to help him play the game ‘Plants Versus Zombies’.    As we helped him out with strategies we both couldn’t help but chuckle as he pronounced again and again a word that sounded like, uh-pop-you-lix.    He was trying to say ‘apocalypse’.   We decided not to correct him just yet.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:   My daughter asked me what time it was the other morning.   I told her it was 8:00AM.   She said, “I love 8:00AM!”