Perhaps it was my attempt to describe my new bed using one of my favorite pianists, or my definite need for a massage, but I have had a recurring dream with Van Cliburn’s hands in it.  Usually it is just the hands, moving beautifully, bringing forth music.  Only the music doesn’t come from a piano, but from me.  My face turned red just writing that phrase, not because of some untoward sexual reference, but because of the intimacy of the action…of being played and the resulting progeny, a tune so beautiful and melodic that it brought a tear to my eye.  I couldn’t remember the melody when I woke up, except the tune was familiar and once I started to sing it, I flew upward into the clouds where a group of ancient looking kings and queens danced in a circle while holding hands.  I wanted them to hear the song, that I could sing it better than anyone else.  I woke before I heard an answer.  For the life of me I couldn’t remember anything else about the song, except those amazing hands and that I had heard the tune before.  Perhaps a connection to a past event or theme?  Who knows, but it was an amazing dream….