<DIV> <DIV class="messageinfo separator"> <TT>Clyde,</TT> <TT>Thanks for the story. It sweetened my morning.</TT> <TT>Dave Davis</TT> <TT></TT><TT>Clyde wrote:</TT> <TT>I parked along the curb and got out of the car.  He was standing there, waiting for me. "Do you remember my name?" As we walked toward the suburban house I looked at my service card. "Well, I have two names written down here, Nathan and Austin." "Which one am I?" I sized him up. "I think you must be the younger one, which I probably wrote down second, so I think you must be Austin." I was right.  We walked into the living room where the 1964 Winter spinet was waiting for me, with everything already cleared off the top.  Mom drove away to get the groceries and left the visiting grandma in charge.  Austin watched as I pulled the piano a few inches from the wall so the lid would stay up, put a cloth where it touched the wall to avoid the possibility of marks, and began inserting my strip mutes.  Kids sometimes ask me why I do that, but I think Austin watched me last year. "What grade will you be in when school starts?" "Fourth." Smart kid.  Nice kid.  I like kids like that.  Interested, but not getting in the way.  Savor the moment.  In a few years he'll be a teenager, not likely to greet the piano tuner even though I'm not a stranger to the family.  I've tuned this piano every year going back well before Austin was born, and I tune for at least five of his mother's siblings. </TT></DIV></DIV>