A concert hall in Milano, Italy.

I love music.  Lots of different kinds.  But I have this "thing" for classical piano.  This "thing" is something I can always remember having.  I loved to sit and watch my dad play jazz on our piano and organ at home.  I was mesmerized when I watched Doug Smith play.  I remember sitting at our piano glued to the movement of Doug's hands as they swept across the keys in almost a blur.  It makes me stop in my tracks, quit what I am doing...  I close my eyes, and slow my breathing as the notes seem to drift through my veins invoking all sorts of thoughts and emotions.  I love it.  I so wish I could play some of the things I hear.  Especially a recent piece I heard on my husband's iTunes list.  The artist's name is Ludovico Einaudi.  It takes me to a small concert hall in Milano, Italy.  I'm in the front row and am squinting my eyes to see and study every move his fingers make, as if I were going to take each stroke home and recite it note for note.