Thread...

A few days from now will be the 18 year anniversary of the day my Dad went Home to be with Jesus. I miss him every day, but lately his absence has really been noticeable - he and Mom, both.
The thing that has really hit me, though, is the lack of music.
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My Dad played the piano. He started taking lessons when he was 3 or 4 years old all the way through his teen years. The lessons just perfected his gift, and yes he was truly gifted. Of course he read music, but he also played by ear (he had perfect pitch).
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Dad played the piano in times of crisis in our home, he played when things were good; he played when he was sad, happy, indifferent. He played everything from Classical to Rock; Gospel to Blues... everything. Our home was always filled with beautiful music.
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All of my life, I stopped what I was doing when he sat down to play. Sometimes I'd sing, but usually I just kept quiet and felt the music. I used to watch his battered hands dance across those ivory keys in awe. There wee a few songs he'd play just for me...
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'Ain't Misbehavin' and The St. Louis Blues were always favorites, but one song he knew I loved... Song of India (Rimsky-Korsakov). He didn't jazz it up like Dorsey, he played it the way it was written - smooth, flowing... absolutely beautiful.
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Sometimes when the house is quiet, I can close my eyes and hear him playing. Precious memories. I am so blessed to be his daughter.

Now, to turn this thread in a different direction...
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