A well-worn five dollar bill tucked inside a Christmas card is the most extravagant gift I expect to receive this year. It was given to me during my Friday night piano gig at St. James Cathedral Kitchen.
Five nights a week Kitchen volunteers serve a free, hot meal to whomever shows up — usually around two hundred folks or more. By appearances, I’m guessing the patrons include plenty of homeless folks, some elderly residents of subsidized apartments in the neighborhood, maybe a few university students, occasional families with youngsters. And dogs. Dogs on leash are admitted.
I’m one of the pianists who add background ambience, making the church social room feel less institutional with a layer of music under the chatter and clatter of dishes. The piano is one of the most out-of-condition I’ve ever contended with. There’s no bench, but an office chair on wheels. That does not work for me. I haul a couple of cushions on the four-block trek from my apartment to the cathedral. I set them on a folding chair so I can approach the keyboard from a perch that won’t roll away. The keys almost always sound when activated. Who could ask for anything more?
It is the highlight of my week. I occasionally substitute for pianists on other nights, but Friday is mine.
Friday happens to be the night when Sue and Susan meet up for their weekly dinner together. I do not know their last names, stories or ages (I’m guessing in their sixties, maybe crowding seventy). Nothing about their appearance suggests monetary wealth. I know Sue rides the bus from her home in the south end of Seattle. And I know that they will always, always exclaim after I finish how wonderful my playing was (whether it was or not).
Last Friday Sue placed an envelope on the piano as I played. When music and dinner were done, I began to open the envelope, anticipating a Christmas card.
“Careful,” Sue cautioned. Tucked inside the card was the five-dollar bill.
“I can’t …” I began.
“Stop!” Sue interrupted. “It’s a gift! You can’t refuse a gift. I wouldn’t give it if I couldn’t afford it.”
I’ve occasionally supplemented my income with piano and organ gigs. But no payment could top the handwritten message in the card: “To our piano player who myself and Susan love to hear your beautiful music while we have our dinner. You make us feel so comfortable and Happy. From your friends, Sue and Susan”
We talked a little longer. Sue is celebrating that her son just got out of jail, where he spent seven months. It was his girlfriend who got him in trouble, says Sue.
“I told him! No more girlfriend!”
After they left, I handed the five dollars to Mick, who runs the Kitchen, and told him the story. “This was from OUR folks?” he asked, mildly disbelieving. Then he smiled.
Whenever I’m given a gift of cash, I like to tell the giver how I used the money. I’ll enjoy telling Sue — and she’ll enjoy hearing — that I spent her gift on a new book of music that I’ve been wanting. Music that she and others will soon be hearing.
Wait a minute, you may be saying. You gave the money to the Kitchen. Yeah, well, money is an illusion. Gifts from the heart are the real thing. There’s no limit to how much love they can buy.


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