Be Quiet in the Kingdom

The old upright piano lived in the "den." The den was not much more than a glorified closet tucked behind louvered doors, but we still called it the "den." It was where I had my desk, my craft table, and a built-in bookcase.

The piano stood against the back wall. Its thick varnish was blackened and cracked with years of Old English polish, and the ivory keys had faded to pale yellow. The piano had come to our house on Davis Lake Road after being stored in the church basement. We had it tuned, and I promptly signed up for piano lessons...again.

Our daughter, Jayna, loved to climb up on the spindled stool, and plink the keys. Even at two and a half she had an ear for making a melody. She would pick the keys out one by one instead of the crash, bang, boom that you might expect from one so young.

One day I saw her perched on the edge of the stool in front of the old piano.

Plink, plink, plunk went the notes. Plinkety-plink, plank, plunk. I stopped to listen. Her little body was bent into the keyboard and the strap of her pink and white Osh Kosh jumper fell over her left shoulder as she concentrated. She was singing as she played:

"Be quiet in the Kingdom, be quiet in the Kingdom...beeeee quiiiiiiiiet in the Kinnnngdom..."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but she sang it again and again.

Later, when I asked her about the song, she answered with all the wisdom of her two and a half years, "It spoils it if you talk about it too much."

Ten years after having left the "Kingdom," I have to agree. It does spoil it if you talk about it too much. White garments and stains alike, it was what it was. It is what it is. It was not all bad; it was not all good. But, it is the melody that shaped more than half my life. I give it that respect and move on.

Plinkety-plink. Be quiet in the Kingdom.