For many years I was a professional musician. I will always be a musician. I don’t think one’s mother tongue is something that leaves you ever and music is mine. I played before I spoke, and read music before I read English. My mom, a pianist, told me that the talent she saw in me led her to ponder if reincarnation might just exist when she put me on a bench in front of a keyboard before my first birthday and I played…not banged, but played a tune.
Music was a career that I easily fell into and enjoyed for nearly four decades. I wore many hats to support my family; teacher, coach, soloist, accompanist, director, church musician for many different denominations from Friday through Sunday nights, along with mid-week choir rehearsals. For each of three years, the choir at one of the churches I worked, presented me with these musical angels.
The first year I received the zither…which looked fairly close to the the hammered dulcimer I played in a Celtic folk group I toured and recorded with in the 8o’s, yet another of my varied lives. The harp came the second year since they knew that our folk group had a harper in it, too. And the last year I was there, I was gifted with the grand piano. On its tiny music stand is the sheet-music for Stille Nacht. I added the tree just a few years ago which came from a relative of my birth father…yes, I’m adopted and I did find my birth father after searching for many many years…but, that’s a story for another time, too.
Each winter my musical angels sit on top of my own grand piano presenting a tiny house concert during the yuletide season. If you’re still enough, you just might hear them, too.