The other night, I surprised and impressed the heck out of my husband.

I didn’t think what I was doing was all that impressive, because I’ve known people who could have done what I did faster, better, more easily and more thoroughly. But he didn’t know I could do what I did, and he hasn’t associated with other people with that skill.

I mean, I suppose it’s a skill. I hadn’t thought of it that way until Ambrose said he was blown away.

During my solo hike this year, I made up a song. Not a complex one, just a simple melody and some lyrics. For the proof copy of my book, I just put an image with the lyric, but I kept it full page so that I might substitute music if I could get music done.

And what impressed him so much was that I recorded my song, pulled out my flute and a keyboard harmonica, dug out my old blank score notebook and set my song to music.

I figured out that I’d sung in the key of E flat major. I wrote out the most basic melody, and apparently, that’s a skill.

I disbelieved that it was a valid skill to the point that I had to ask Ambrose what he was blown away about when he just kept looking at me and shaking his head.

I still need to figure out how to annotate the rhythm of the song, but I’ve got the melody, and, in a way, I feel like I’ve discovered a new skill.

Even if all I did was rediscover the principle that you only have to know 10 percent more about a subject than someone else for that person to consider you an expert.

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