The first summer we moved to this neighborhood, I would be sitting on the porch and could hear piano music floating softly on the breeze. One afternoon while walking a birthday card to the blue mailbox on the corner (remember those?) the piano music seemed to be getting louder, as if I was getting closer to the source.
Sure enough, in the house about two over from the mailbox was a teenage boy playing the piano. I could see clearly enough through the window screen to know he was our paperboy, and this endeared him to me even more closely.
One twilight evening when I was walking by, both the guy and his mom were on the bench playing double. I crept close enough to watch all four of their hands move quickly up and down the keys.
These days, the lady and I happen across each other from time to time, and I notice the arthritis of her hands. She says she still plays as often as she feels like it, especially when her son comes back for a visit. Their house now has air conditioning, so I don’t get to eavesdrop by the window screen.
Over the years there have been many music notes drifting past the porch steps. A drum, a saxophone, another piano, a viola, a clarinet, even our own youngest son’s guitar. 
I’ve never liked to hear a musician practice, (as my Oldest Son would be quick to mention about piano lessons) but near the end, when experience is set, dress rehearsal is ready, and the recital is nigh, then I can really appreciate efforts.
For a few evenings lately, our neighbor boy has been practicing with his bagpipes. He’s getting good enough that he is entered into a competition! His mom asked if noise from their back porch was bothering us on our patio.
No, not at all. We consider this life as usual around here.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
ps Nils at Truths and Half Truths has a good post about life on the road as an entertainer. He says this trip will be his last.
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