determined fingers

I am kicking myself for not repairing my piano earlier. Perhaps I was harboring a subconscious fear that, once it was fully functional again, I would discover that I'd forgotten everything I'd learned (I began lessons at five). But now I'm practicing/playing at every opportunity. How could I have forgotten how much I loved to play?

I'm not claiming I have a special talent, as I don't. But one of my few virtues is patience. And with patience comes a willingness to practice.

It reminds me of when I was learning to ride a bicycle; I refused training wheels from the beginning, even though my ability to learn how to balance on the bike took so long that my mother was beginning to worry that I had some type of disability. But once I learned how to ride, I was unstoppable, much to my parents' chagrin. I thought nothing of cruising the foreign neighborhoods of Casa Linda and Casa View until way after dark, and was genuinely confused when I came home and discovered that my parents were on the verge of calling the police.

The variety of stuff I play is certainly odd. Two days ago, I was playing Beethoven; last night it was Ray Charles. Not sure what this says about me.