Play it, Sam

Okay, that was a downer. AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH.

No pun intended

Today I'm in a piano sort of mood, postwise. One item has been in my blog/photo stockroom for a few weeks, and the other I found today webfishing.

I'm teaching Tigrrl the rudiments of music theory, while I'm trying (theoretically) to find a piano teacher for her. Notes, octaves, bass and treble clefs, chords, and so on. Which is the limit of my musical knowledge.
Let me stress "rudiments."

This undertaking (teaching ANYTHING to her) must be approached cautiously. In the past when we have suggested "learning how to play the piano" she has responded, "Why? I like how I play."
One time she said, "No. My voice is my instrument."





Anyway. Not long ago I was walking past the piano --

by the way none of us play the piano. It was handed down from the Him's aunt --

and something caught my eye.
(This, to be exact.)

Hmm.

What....?

I recall that a few weeks ago she came to me and said with what appeared to be sincere contrition," Mom, I have to tell you something. I wrote on the piano. I'm sorry."

At the time I was so shocked that a) she had confessed something and A.) she seemed SORRY about it, that I became befuddled and might even have patted her on the head.

I need a closer look at that.



Yup. And it's Sharpie. Not C#, I mean the ink.
Frankly, I'm pleased that she was interested enough to do this. I'm going to leave it there.



That particular stunt was really not so bad.
Case in point: Here's one that she didn't do. Its at the other end of the spectrum my friends and I call "you have to tell them EVERY DAMN THING not to do..."



Sunday evening I'm at church shepherding a group of middle-schoolers. ("PresbyTweens." I thought of it, but they bought into it. Their choice.) In another wing there is a meeting, attended by my friend... I shall call her Ivy. Ivy has two adorable children, a daughter who is Tigrrrl's age, and a son who is younger. Say 7 or so. He has a sweet, innocent face, and really is a good kid at heart, but things happen when he is around. He is waiting in the hall for Ivy to finish her meeting.





Let's call him Calvin.
Me and the 'Tweens are in the kitchen working on our loaves and fishes made from crescent roll dough, when our ears are assaulted by the fire alarm. Several women come hustling down the hall and tell us we gotta go outside.
Not a drill...
As I'm herding the 'Tweens across the parking lot to safety, the women are asking me "didn't you smell that? Didn't your hear that?"


Well, no. What?
Really I'm just stalling, because I'm convinced that the alarm is somehow my fault, because after all I was the one who was in the room where fire stuff happens and had, in fact, turned on the oven (for the loaves-and-fishes), and baking was going on, okay potential rather than kinetic but still... am I so accustomed to burning smells that I didn't notice.....? Maybe?
Remember this?

And I haven't even told you about this yet.

By the way where's Ivy?
She's calling the fire department, they say.
Instinctively - knowing that Things Happen when Calvin is present -- I ask What did he do? Where is he?

I am led to understand that Calvin is being held in the tractor-beam of Mom's Evil Eye Glare while she calls 911.

The 'Tweens require attention for a few minutes, first to be extracted from the magnolia tree before they break it or themselves, and then to be restrained as they rush toward the approaching fire engines in an excess of emergency excitement.
Once the firemen have secured the area, and confirm that the church will not erupt in flames, and I get the 'Tweens rounded up and the loaves-and-fishes into the oven, I get the scoop.

Whilst kicking his heels waiting on mom, Calvin chanced upon a key in his pocket. Being a smallish boy, he spent some time exploring the possibilities of key-related activity. Then, because he knew that one must never, EVER put a key, or a fork or anything that is NOT A PLUG into an outlet - (Not a pin either. Or your sister's barrette.) Calvin did not put the key into an outlet.
The wall switch, however, proved irresistible.

Those in the meeting heard a loud zap and smelled something burning.
Ivy leapt from her chair, having no illusions as to the source, and they discovered Calvin standing agog in the hallway, hair smoking...
The wall switch continued to produce an impressive amount of sparks, zapping and smoke. Ivy unleashed a fire extinguisher (on the fiery bits, not Calvin), but that just seemed to make it mad.
Hence the alarm, and the fire engines and all. But he's okay, just a bit singed.
So I'm thinking a little bit of sharpie, not so bad.


The Other Piano Thing: You thought I'd forgotten.

Happy Thursday.