"Pierre, where’s Dom?" I asked the owner as he walked nervously by.

"I don’ no where Dominic eez! Eet eez not lek ‘im to be let. I don no wat we’ll do eef ee dos not arrive! Ee eez why people come eer to dine! Witout eem, der weel be pandamonium!"

"Not to worry, Pierre," I said calmly.

I gave Suzi a knowing glance and sauntered over to the piano. I sat down and let my fingers take over. The songs flew from my hands like a flock of doves beating melodies with every flap of their wings as they soared to destinations unknown. People turned mid-sentence from their dinner conversations; wait staff stood frozen half-way through taking orders; and Pierre wiped a tear from his eye.

I started with Gershwin, moved onto some Bach and concluded with Debussy’s "Claire De Lune." The entire restaurant erupted in a standing ovation and I closed my eyes to take it in.

When I opened them I was still sitting in front of the piano, but I was at home in Spearville, and instead of having just played "Claire De Lune," I was trying to remember that "Every Good Boy Does Fine."

"Every Good Boy Does Fine … EGBDF," I repeated to myself as I stared at the music. I pressed Middle C with my thumb, then F. No, wait. That was E. There’s F. Darn it! That’s G! Did they forget to put F on my piano?

I don’t remember a time, as an adult, when I didn’t want to learn the piano. As a child, on the other hand, I’m sure I wouldn’t have spent more than five minutes sitting on the piano bench before I’d be off watching re-runs of "McHale’s Navy" or building a fort with a blanket over a picnic table

In my early 20s, I resolved that I was too old to learn to play the piano. After all, children start learning piano at 3 or 4. Heck, Mozart wasn’t even out of the womb when he wrote his first virtuoso, "Uterus Minuet in B Flat."

At 30, I surmised that if only I’d have started a few years ago – say, in my early 20s — by now I’d be pretty good. And at 35, I decided that if I had begun to learn at 30 instead of wishing I’d have started a few years sooner, I’d be playing pretty darn well by now.

And when I hit 40, I didn’t really think about learning the piano any more, content instead to spend my days watching reruns of "McHale’s Navy" and building things in my yard.

Then, a few months ago, I heard that an old upright piano was being given away. It looked to be about 60 or 70 years old. It was off-key, some of the ivory was cracked and broken, several keys stayed down when you pressed them, and the wood finish was chipped in several places. In other words, it was beautiful.

The first major dilemma I faced was getting it home. I tried lifting it, but my arms nearly detached at the shoulders, which would have defeated the purpose. I tried filling it with helium and floating it home; I tried flooding Dodge City and rowing it home; and I even tried convincing it to sprout legs and walk home on its own accord, which would have worked had it not been utterly impossible.

Finally, I turned to some friends at the Spearville News, Bruce and Greg Vierthaler, who, along with Greg Scheve and John Ackerman, not only provided the muscle, but Bruce custom built a dolly to hoist the piano onto, and even brought the horsetrailer in which to transport it to Spearville.

Now, that’s kindness you can only hope to find in Kansas.

When I sat down to learn to play for the first time, I was surprised to find that I didn’t immediately want to get up and go watch TV, or build something, or play fetch with the dog. In fact, before I knew it, hours had passed and I was slowly but surely plucking out little ditties, trying always to remember that "Every Good Boy Does Fine."

I suddenly found myself wondering what the difference was. I could have begun to learn years ago. So, why now?

Over the years, this piano has offered an abundance of both beautiful music, and plain old noise. It’s cracked and chipped, some notes including a weird twang or clicking sound. Although far from perfect, with the help of a higher power, it has the potential to be the instrument of something wonderful. …

Birds of a feather.