Every time I go out the front door to get the mail, I go by my piano--which has the lid down over the keys.  I rarely open it to play.  It is amazing all of the things we spent hours and hours learning how to do, we have left behind us. 

Occasionally I play.  When I married Ken, the next Sunday when we went to church for the first time, the director learned that I could play, and I was immediately put to work as the church pianist in Pensacola (Warrington) Fla.  And many other times as we moved--other places in America didn’t make their children learn to play the piano like Okies did.  I didn’t have as many opportunities as we moved, but played when they needed me.  And then a few years ago, Roy Jackson asked me to take over the services in Pryor and play.  I did, and renewed my ability because I was playing every Sunday.  When I moved here, one of the older departments needed a pianist.  I played for them.  But now, my piano sits there gathering dust.  It seems a shame.  For a while, I played my marimba for the church’s ministry group.  Now, the marimba is in the trunk of my car.  Seven pieces.  Waiting to be put together and used.  I just need someone to need a pianist or a marimbist.