For the last few months I have been going through boxes I had in storage, some for almost two decades. One of the boxes I found had some music in it and I have started playing the piano again, a little.
Rodgers and Hart. Jerome Kern. Sigmund Romberg. I am not that old (quite), but it is my period, musically. At heart I am a balladeer.
I was never a very good musician and I am much worse now. The piano belonged to my grandmother Daisy. She was amazing, could play anything by ear alone, an early compensation for her blindness in later life.
I did not inherit my grandmother's talent. Nor my grandfather's talent with the violin. Nor my father's ability to harmonize. I did inherit my mother's talent for listening, and enjoying.
Playing again, whatever the quality, has brought some of the joy back. For one, it's a good break from that other imperious keyboard. And it's nice to know we can rediscover at any age.
Now I wonder what is in the next box.