tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post6908382741889282729..comments2024-01-25T21:55:17.239-05:00Comments on Sacred Cake by Jennifer Morford: Pushing the Piano HomeJennifer Valentine Morfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07072301036645950571noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-39260067997392741292013-12-17T13:03:05.047-05:002013-12-17T13:03:05.047-05:00I would like to post an excerpt from this in my no...I would like to post an excerpt from this in my noncommercial blog: healinghamlet(dot)com, which focuses on healing and art (visual, writing and music). I will give credit to you and provide a link to the full post on this website. Please let me know if you have any concerns and thank you for sharing your art and your journey!anita pricehttp://healinghamlet.com/noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-42720634907015974982013-04-03T12:49:45.363-04:002013-04-03T12:49:45.363-04:00This is wonderful, Jennifer. Michael is so right. ...This is wonderful, Jennifer. Michael is so right. It's the memory you will play again and again. What K.W. wrote about you made me want to weep. He loves you so much. So much more priceless than any tangible...Any piano or music it might play. The two of you are blessed beyond words. <3 Thanks for sharing this.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-76456364105453248202013-03-26T16:54:21.645-04:002013-03-26T16:54:21.645-04:00I believe we were near the intersection of Saint M... I believe we were near the intersection of Saint Mary's and St George (well okay, the crossing street is named George, but I had to christen this story) when the pain in the chest arrived. And at that moment, I began to wonder if I would die, immersed in this sweet cold air, in the middle of doing something I never imagined doing.<br /> I looked around at what could have been my last scan of a tired old sidewalk, rolling over and pulling on its concrete sheet one more cold night; breaking off the edges near the feet of naked maple. I began to panic.<br />Soon, I became fully conscious of my breathing, like the uneasy feel of a frozen lake beneath my feet when I am far away from the edge. <br />But then, <br /> I saw you looking at the piano, like a young Van Gogh staring through the glass of an Arles café, wondering if people could see him on the other side; an incomparable person whose vision changed everything we define as beautiful and important. <br /> Watching you press your forehead against the old dusty wood, to catch your breath, you raised the lid to the row of keys and touched them all, each and every one, without a sound. I whispered to myself, this would have been a good time for my life to end watching the joy in your face as you peered through the soul of a piece of junk; the way you look at me, believing there is music left to play.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00640092435707786367noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-19866059855580837412013-03-26T15:42:16.233-04:002013-03-26T15:42:16.233-04:00awwww- i love this story!awwww- i love this story!fanciful deviceshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15032434965998552318noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-59531865401989980712013-03-26T12:57:43.637-04:002013-03-26T12:57:43.637-04:00Such a wonderful story Jennifer, filled with love,...Such a wonderful story Jennifer, filled with love, hope, and the best memories ever!Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13045710040933805226noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18275476.post-11004285901342791352013-03-26T07:37:16.113-04:002013-03-26T07:37:16.113-04:00It is all here, the love, the struggle, the music,...It is all here, the love, the struggle, the music, and the beauty of life lived together. Each time you sit down at the piano, you will play the memory.Michael Douglas Joneshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07524622810339437045noreply@blogger.com