Let The Piano Play Itself

I ran my first formal homeschooling day with the boys yesterday. We studied Spanish, gardening, the human skin, multiplication, writing, watercolor, and Chaucer. I worked on the piano with Sam, opening my heart to his despair and terror in the face of all the music he's "lost" over the summer break. We did yoga and played Rat-a-tat-cat. In between, I got a chicken in the slow cooker, fielded grocery acquisition calls, and contributed to breakfast, lunch, and clean up.

At the "end" of our day, there was laundry to hang and fold, calls to make, a cat who needed first aid, and my bedroom that needed first aid after the cat's ongoing abcess drainage. The cucumbers were ripe and ready for pickling, the garlic needed to be hung, and the aronia berries begged to be harvested. Most horizontal surfaces were heaped with Lego, playing cards, clothes or dishes, and I am scheduled to teach a workshop here on Sunday.

I hung out the laundry piece by piece. This job usually belongs to the boys, but I wanted to give them a chance to play and integrate after a pretty intense day. I strongly wanted to contribute to their needs  and at the same time, I was tired, overstimulated, and confused about how to meet all of the needs on the table. In addition to my household and home business tasks, I've taken on outside employment that I need to finish prepping before Monday. Whew.

I lifted one wet piece of cloth after another. How will it happen? I asked. How can all of this possibly get done when I am so drained, so empty? There are not enough people, there's not enough time....

"Let the piano play itself." The words returned to me from years past when I studied piano with Ben. He told me that if you allow the piano, it will push back at you after you press each note in order to return to its original position. You may receive its energy and use that impetus to play the next note. The image that Ben shared shaped the teaching of my workshops until, now, participant energy carries me elliptically through my workplay so that presenting workshops is a joy.

I shook a damp blouse in the sun. The cotton rubbed against my fingers, pregnant with water from the washing. Clean. I let the sensation fill me. I looked across at my garden, a forest of selectively cut lettuces and kales amid tangled vines of tomatoes and cucumbers. Their jeweled colors threw the sun back at me. I opened my eyes, my heart. I took it in. The laundry drifted between the basket, my hands, and the wooden rack. Effortlessly, one piece after another found its place in the sun. I breathed in with gratitude the blue of the sky, the sound of my children playing.

"Can I help you, Mom? To make it go faster?" Sam asked at the back door. I smiled.

Today, I am taking in the beauty of the day. The crows playing in the park have fueled my pedaling to the bank, the store. Trees have waved me forward, cheering, to discover the next bit of chaos 'round the bend. The sun glinting in Trinidad's honey colored hair reminds me that we have plenty of time to get to the soccer match.

Time may be all we have to measure out the giving and receiving of our love.