Love in the mistakes

I am learning the Debussy piece and thinking of a memory posted on Facebook a while ago by my friend Ann. She recalled going to sleep each night as a child, listening to her mother play their piano.

Ann said her mother always played one song.

There was a difficult part near the end and my mother had to slow it down to be able to play it. That was my favourite part, and each night I looked forward to hearing it before I fell asleep.

Ann

Love is everywhere, even — maybe especially — in our shortcomings. Thank you Ann.

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