Music To My Ears

      Watching this man,  John Daversa, perform with his trumpet made it difficult to tell where he ended and the trumpet began.  Or vice versa.  Of course the brass was a big tip off.  But it was almost too personal to watch him play that thing and yet so exciting and delicious for my ears that I could not NOT watch.  And then the old thoughts came back.  Why don't I play an instrument?  What moment passed by unnoticed  when my heart told me that I must play that violin or die?  Or that cello?  Or that piano?
     When I used to express these thoughts to my mom she gave me the most lovely way of looking at the situation.  She acknowledged the envy, the feelings of longing and simply told me this:  "It is important for someone to be the audience.  It is necessary to the musician for you to appreciate all that beautiful music."  I can still hear her saying that.  Words can sound an awful lot like music sometimes.
     This morning, my husband and I walked to the corner to watch runners pass through our neighborhood as they ran the annual marathon in our city.  Last year we biked it with some friends and I realized the importance of 'audience'.  Their  cheers of encouragement and support were delightful to hear and served to help me up a difficult hill or through a long arduous stretch.  Perhaps someone standing along the side of the road last year wished to themselves that they could ride in a marathon.  Perhaps this morning  they did.