Daisy
Have you ever wondered
why hospital lobbies, unlike hotels, do not routinely house pianos? I don’t
know but they should. I think it would be a great service to the patients and
staff to hear music wafting from the lobby to the nether regions of any dingy
and dreary hospital.
As lady luck would have it, my hospital not only has a piano parked in the middle of its lobby, it also works! It is an old, black, chic grand piano that beckons to me in the wee hours of the night as I pass it by.
“Come play! Caress us or strike us, if needed, but play you must!”, invited the piano keys, last night.
I am a closet pianist and I don’t have the courage to come out to all as yet. The graveyard shift ensured lack of an audience, and that boosted my confidence to play.
Although tentative to begin with, I threw caution to the wind as I got to the few pieces that I thoroughly enjoy. I paid homage to the dear departed Beethoven, by playing ‘ode to joy’. That was followed by, in quick succession, ‘winter night’ (inspite of the summer heat being at a record high) and ‘whirlpool’. Finally ‘turbocharged’ brought my performance to a grand finale.
While I was playing ‘turbocharged’, a nurse passing by commented, “Nice tunes.” Without looking up, I mumbled an embarrassed, though heart-felt thank you for the appreciation of piano notes at 3:00 AM in the dead (no pun intended) lobby of the hospital.
“The acoustics of the piano should be extolled, but not so much the amateur pianist”, was the thought that crossed my mind.
Once I got up to leave I noticed an elderly black lady watching me intently. I could have sworn that she wasn’t there when I had begun my recital. What grabbed my attention the most was her summer hat with a huge flower attached to its brim. A bit odd I thought given the time of the day (night, really). As I walked past her she gave me a huge radiant smile and said, “That was lovely to hear and very soulful”. That was a compliment not to be taken lightly, and she meant it, per her demeanor. I thanked her profusely.
The lady, let’s call her Daisy, told me about her love affair with music. She used to sing for her church choir. Slightfully wistful, she recounted how her daughter had been so passionate about the violin, but once married she had stopped playing the instrument.
Daisy spoke about jazz – Duke Ellington, blues – Chuck Berry, and soul - Aretha Franklin, almost in one breath. She told me why she was in the hospital at 3:00 AM: her best friend was dying of cancer on one of the floors above us. She, herself, was a tentative cancer survivor, and she felt blessed to be given the extra time to enjoy her people – and her music. She had such a lovely rhythm about her. Her eyes were animated as she talked about musical instruments that she wanted to learn and new singing techniques. She told me that she was energized after chatting with me and that she was going to enroll in music lessons next week.
In return I told her how I had always been fascinated by the piano, but it was only last year that Ray, my 10-year-old son, taught me. Learning the piano from him had been a joyful experience, worth writing about some day. I made my son ‘like’ the piano from an early age because I had always wanted to play it. That might be living vicariously through my child. Although guilty as charged, I think it turned out okay because he started enjoying it himself. After four years of playing it he taught me the piano last year and now both of us play it. That is a win-win situation, if I know one.
“Music has the amazing ability to create light where there is darkness and more light where there is less”, said Daisy. “You have music in you boy. Keep playing”, were her parting comments.
As I walked back to my work post I felt blessed for having interacted with this unknown-yet-known fellow traveler.
But what really brought us together was music – a universal theme crucial to the fabric of life.
Henceforth I have decided that when and if I am chosen to a hospital administration board I will ensure the presence of a fully tuned and functional piano, Daisy, in the lobby.
Let the music play.
Acknowledgment: This story is from the book An Itinerant Observer. A version was also published in the Houston Inner Looper (Nov 2012).
Note: An experimental digital version of this story can be found here: Digital Narrative Medicine.
As lady luck would have it, my hospital not only has a piano parked in the middle of its lobby, it also works! It is an old, black, chic grand piano that beckons to me in the wee hours of the night as I pass it by.
“Come play! Caress us or strike us, if needed, but play you must!”, invited the piano keys, last night.
I am a closet pianist and I don’t have the courage to come out to all as yet. The graveyard shift ensured lack of an audience, and that boosted my confidence to play.
Although tentative to begin with, I threw caution to the wind as I got to the few pieces that I thoroughly enjoy. I paid homage to the dear departed Beethoven, by playing ‘ode to joy’. That was followed by, in quick succession, ‘winter night’ (inspite of the summer heat being at a record high) and ‘whirlpool’. Finally ‘turbocharged’ brought my performance to a grand finale.
While I was playing ‘turbocharged’, a nurse passing by commented, “Nice tunes.” Without looking up, I mumbled an embarrassed, though heart-felt thank you for the appreciation of piano notes at 3:00 AM in the dead (no pun intended) lobby of the hospital.
“The acoustics of the piano should be extolled, but not so much the amateur pianist”, was the thought that crossed my mind.
Once I got up to leave I noticed an elderly black lady watching me intently. I could have sworn that she wasn’t there when I had begun my recital. What grabbed my attention the most was her summer hat with a huge flower attached to its brim. A bit odd I thought given the time of the day (night, really). As I walked past her she gave me a huge radiant smile and said, “That was lovely to hear and very soulful”. That was a compliment not to be taken lightly, and she meant it, per her demeanor. I thanked her profusely.
The lady, let’s call her Daisy, told me about her love affair with music. She used to sing for her church choir. Slightfully wistful, she recounted how her daughter had been so passionate about the violin, but once married she had stopped playing the instrument.
Daisy spoke about jazz – Duke Ellington, blues – Chuck Berry, and soul - Aretha Franklin, almost in one breath. She told me why she was in the hospital at 3:00 AM: her best friend was dying of cancer on one of the floors above us. She, herself, was a tentative cancer survivor, and she felt blessed to be given the extra time to enjoy her people – and her music. She had such a lovely rhythm about her. Her eyes were animated as she talked about musical instruments that she wanted to learn and new singing techniques. She told me that she was energized after chatting with me and that she was going to enroll in music lessons next week.
In return I told her how I had always been fascinated by the piano, but it was only last year that Ray, my 10-year-old son, taught me. Learning the piano from him had been a joyful experience, worth writing about some day. I made my son ‘like’ the piano from an early age because I had always wanted to play it. That might be living vicariously through my child. Although guilty as charged, I think it turned out okay because he started enjoying it himself. After four years of playing it he taught me the piano last year and now both of us play it. That is a win-win situation, if I know one.
“Music has the amazing ability to create light where there is darkness and more light where there is less”, said Daisy. “You have music in you boy. Keep playing”, were her parting comments.
As I walked back to my work post I felt blessed for having interacted with this unknown-yet-known fellow traveler.
But what really brought us together was music – a universal theme crucial to the fabric of life.
Henceforth I have decided that when and if I am chosen to a hospital administration board I will ensure the presence of a fully tuned and functional piano, Daisy, in the lobby.
Let the music play.
Acknowledgment: This story is from the book An Itinerant Observer. A version was also published in the Houston Inner Looper (Nov 2012).
Note: An experimental digital version of this story can be found here: Digital Narrative Medicine.
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