Mind Like a Steel (Wolf)trap

Just about nine months ago I happened upon one of my favorite pianists playing at an incredibly desirable, quaint and romantic location in Virginia, Wolftrap, just before our departure to Brazil. The Jim Brickman would be playing for a small crowd of just about 200 people in The Barns at Wolftrap, in the fallen leaves of October, in the rolling Virginia hills, by nearly only candlelight, with nearly only (less 199 strangers) my husband.

I arranged to pick up the tickets at a Starbucks in Arlington from a gentleman whom Paul had spoken with from Craigslist, the man in possession of the only two tickets left for the event. He informed me through the ticket exchange between criss-crossed hands of Sam, a chocolate milk box, myself, a vanilla latte, Peter and a paci that he and his wife had seen him before at this location and that is was "breathtaking," they would however, be unable to attend this evening, fortunate for us.

I packed a picnic dinner that we had the greatest intentions of stopping and sharing on a blanket on our way to the event, but our babysitter had been running late. So I unwrapped the carefully tied strings about our wax-paper-wrapped cobb salad sandwiches, and handed one to Paul who drove us through rush hour traffic to the evening of his wife's dreams.

In the height of anticipation of our big international move, a baby and a toddler running be ragged about the city, emotionally we were both in need of an evening like this.

We arrived, sipped wine among the other guests and were ushered into "The Barn." I have always had a thing for piano music, it is just in my soul. A few chords and I can be brought to tears, a whole evening and I am on musical high. We relaxed for what felt like the first time since we'd arrived in DC.

At one point in the evening Jim played a song he had written for the country music group, Lady Antabellum. We listened entranced, but the words didn't strike me at the time, I was more caught up in the piano stylings of Jim Brickman than of the words that flowed from the woman who sang with him that evening.

Until yesterday....

As I sat in the tiny waiting room of a doctor's office in Brasilia, Brazil, holding my tiny Pete on my lap, bird like hair gently brushing my chin, quietly chewing on cheerios and baby campfire marshmallows, it began to play, in English, on the stereo:

I began to hum along into Pete's tiny ear, wondering why I knew the tune, how I knew the words....Then it hit me. From 4188.1 miles and a continent away, in Brazil, in a city that's population speaks hardly a word of english, in a waiting room that is already destined to become a fond memory on our journey to spreading our love, forever, in more beating hearts outside of our bodies than we had ever dreamed ourselves lucky enough to be in the care of....and none of us will ever be alone.