Lump in the bed

The other night, getting into a hotel bed, I wondered what the lump was. Digging under the fitted sheet I found a clean, new-looking pair of pink undies. With little ducks stitched on the front. Oooops, looks like someone's something got lost in the washing. But for me: a lovely bicycle chain cleaning rag!

I'd strapped them on the back of my bike rack, ready for use. And this hilarious exchange ensued.
Lady Elise: "Can I use your underwear to clean my chain?"
Me: "Sure! Take them off."
[off the rack]

mwahahaha

While waiting for her to clean the chain, I wandered next door and found an art gallery (this was in the city of Hue, a city fine enough to support art galleries). With the intent to browse just a few minutes I stepped inside. And therein, as if it were waiting in a beam projected from heaven, was A Piano.

I've not seen or touched a piano in months. And just the previous night I'd been waxing wistful how my soul is at its biggest when playing the piano.

I approached, almost a little teary, and saw there was a stack of music on the case. Some of the titles of the pieces were in Chinese characters, but I recognized a lyrical song my Dad listens to in the garage ("Secret Garden"). From 1945 Lake Rd to Hue Vietnam.

Then Mrs. Art Gallery saw me standing there and asked, "Do you speak Piano?"

Yes, I do speak piano. 

And she motioned me to play and so I sat down and sight-read some pieces, Chinese characters or no. Oh so delicious to play again, even just for a touch. Communication here in Vietnam is sometimes deeply frustrating, but that's the beautiful thing about speaking piano: it can transcend all that mess.