It's no secret that I love my job, but this week I received confirmation that my job loves me. For when I walked into my clients' apartment, from the bedroom I heard, "Our girl is here." To which the reply came, "Well tell her to come in."
Lately, ten times out of ten my shift starts with a bedside chat. Mostly in English; more and more in Italian dialect. And this week, the good morning routine has gone from greeting, to Italian to music. I can't play the piano, but I can read music, so from the 8 inches of stacked sheet music I find a song from which I can pick out the melody line on the keyboard. Yesterday, I few measures in, the query came from the bed, "Is that Bill Bailey you're trying to play?"
"Yes, can you tell -- really?" was my reply.
"Yes," to which the singing ensued.
We sang and laughed all morning. Which begs the question, "Who gets the most out of my going to work?"
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