I really, really stunk at piano lessons. I just wanted to learn to play without practicing. Ever. So I didn't. Ever. I think the thing I enjoyed most about my first piano teacher was his accent. He was Dutch and had such a rich, melodious voice, and I loved to hear him play. He didn't say much during our lessons, and I remember more about the view from the swing on his front porch as I waited for my turn at the piano and his daily tea delivery. His precious wife brought him tea every afternoon during my lessons. He probably could have used some ear plugs and a stiff drink to combat the sour sounds of my playing, but she just brought him tea and a few cookies. Many years after I failed to learn anything (because of the aforementioned failure to practice) I learned that he was an accomplished carillonneur in his native Holland. Even if I can't play a note of a single song he taught me, I think of him every time I hear the carillon here in town.
Even though I didn't become a piano player, I did learn enough to be able to read a smidgen of music. As a self-proclaimed afficianado of Christmas music, I remember getting a hankering to play a tune or two from the book my great-grandmother left in the piano bench. I mean, I knew the notes, surely I could play? I guess the book and my song choice show their age a bit because I'm probably the only person under the age of 50 who knows all of the words to "Home for the Holidays." It's definitely a song of a different era, and most likely thanks to the lack of sharps or flats in the song, that was the song I played over and over. So twenty years later, that song still evokes memories of sitting at the piano at my parents' house playing the only song I could play on the piano. "From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the traffic is terrific!"
As we get ready to work on our house today, I guess I hope we're creating the kind of home that we'll eventually long for! We're working on the kitchen today. I'm optimistic!
