BY ANY OTHER NAME
There is a three-ring binder I keep in my piano bench it home.
It is filled with pages of clear plastic sleeves, 1o per sheet, each doubled stuffed with business cards.
A bursting reminder of all the people whom I’ve played for over the years, I periodically leaf through the book and visualize each person, connecting their printed name with a face.
And in spite of this, my mind decided that it was already on holiday this weekend, leaving me panic-stricken because I clean forgot the names of four cherished regular guests who have come to dine multiple times, on very significant occasions.
When I am called by name, I know I am meaningful. I am remembered. I am in someone else’s book.
When I can’t respond with the same familiarity, I feel immense pangs of guilt.
Thankfully, the sparkling and genuine reciprocity of a “honey” or “darling” sounds remarkably like everybody’s name.
I guess when you play from the heart, sincerity does all the calling.