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by Lorena Lloren, November 27, 2007

I had planned to write a totally different article, something spiritual or reflective about a major heart attack I suffered fully 1 year and almost 4 months ago.  But I could never start it and maybe it isn’t yet the time.  

But this morning, while cleaning up around the house, something pushed me to go over to our old piano.  I sat down at the old stool and opened up the keyboard.  I had just opened it up again last week in order to have it cleaned and repaired.  

I took a damp rag and began running it over the keyboard, trying to take away the slight dust and stains that hadn’t been attended to all these years past.  And while I sat there, slowly rubbing the keys, I began to remember all those times my mother, brother, sister and I sat on this very stool, in front of this very piano, playing our pieces and practicing our lessons.  

I remembered how our mother used to play almost every night, until midnight sometimes, and how all the neighbors remembered that about her, and told me it was one of the things they missed.  How all of us were taught, every Saturday, how to play and read notes and how I secretly rebelled at all the time I had to spend at the piano, especially when I kept telling myself I wasn’t planning on becoming a pianist for life!

All these memories!  It was as if the piano was just waiting for me to open it for it to bring back all these memories!  And frankly, I think that was the reason I had avoided opening it or even playing it for so long, always telling myself the reasonable excuse that it needed to be repaired first before I could play it again.

I was just afraid of the memories.  But my children are interested to learn and they are now taking music lessons, like my siblings and I did so very long ago.  And now, when I open the piano, I think I can almost see Mama standing or sitting beside me on the stool, like she used to do when we were so very young, smiling…

Sikwate Talk - “Over a cup of sikwate”
Sit, relax, and enjoy what life’s got to offer.  Like a cup of “sikwate”, it’s dark, raw, pure, and sweetened to taste.  That’s how the journey is.  Like falling leaves, it’s family re-tracing its roots and going back to the basics.  This section will feature what life’s got to offer OVER A CUP OF “SIKWATE”.  Look forward to more articles.  It’s the “sikwate” talk.