I have been taking piano lessons for eight years. I started when I was eight.
I should be really good at piano by now. But we don't need to talk about that.
I have to say, the best thing about my piano lessons is my teacher. And when I think about her, I don't usually think about piano. But wait a second, I really have to start at the beginning. When I was eight.
When I was eight I was really shy. Painfully. I really don't know why I wanted to take piano lessons. I suppose it was just the fact that I've really always been the person who aspired to do everything. And piano looked fun. So my mom found a local teacher; Miss Shirley. I've always called her Miss Shirley. She wanted me to. Everyone I know calls her Miss Shirley.
I remember the first lesson. Miss Shirley lives in a little house just big enough for her piano and her plants. I don't have any experience with other methods of musical teaching, but I know for sure hers is off the beaten path. Being the introvert that I was, she scared me a little. Everyone scared me a little. But truthfully speaking, I'm not so sure that my reaction would have been different had I met her five or ten years later. She's the sort of person that takes everyone off guard. Still happens to me every once in a while!
Let me explain. She's seventy-six. A young seventy-six. About five feet tall with an abundance of white curls. She walks with a bounce and speaks with a chirp. A loud chirp. She knits with a fury. She says what she thinks. If you have the pleasure of hearing her opinion, you wouldn't think of trying to change it. If she starts to tell you her opinion, be prepared to stay a while. If she asks your opinion, you'd better give it.
She has her own language. Mistakes are "mistrakes." She pronounces Bach and Beethoven like they're spelled, just to throw you off. My brother is "Lukie-duke." Even musical terms have their own names, like "dead spider." (D.S. al Coda)
If you're in a hurry, avoid the following subjects:
- Charlotte Bronte. According to Miss Shirley, she was "wicked." I will just take her word on it since she has read the 1,200 page biography of the Bronte family.
- Camouflage. She hates it. Still a little fuzzy on why she hates it.
- Fingering. As in, where you put your fingers on the piano. She claims the people who write them on music have six fingers. So she changes it all. Here comes the white out!
- Orange. A little less repulsive is olive green. ("kind of like that shirt you're wearing" she says)
- Paco Vacunas. More specifically, their hair. Well, actually, anything related to fiber arts.
- The personal lives of composers. You might forget the lesson entirely while perusing the Oxford dictionary of music looking at pictures. (Her Oxford dictionary is a full inch thicker than her old teacher's music dictionary, and don't forget it!)
- Tucking in the tails of her knitting. She will perform various feats of knitting ingenuity to avoid tucking tails.
- Politics. Enough said.
I had a lesson today. Starting out on the topic of migraine headaches and hereditary "diseases," the conversation soon turned to the consequences of drinking an alcoholic beverage just because it has a pretty flower floating in the top. Then we talked about Israel, the definition of
piu (Italian for "more") geraniums and Prince William. You know, the norm. Really quite impressive, considering how far we
usually get off track. And I think I might be getting somewhere in the Mendelssohn!
Her typical goodbye? "Well, I guess I should stop yelling at you now." I love her.
Alright, I'll stop talking so you can go ahead and look up what in the world a Paco Vacuna is.
A lot.
How fun would it be to cuddle one of these while reading a book, drinking iced tea, eating mangoes, and swinging in a hammock on a beautiful sunny day, with the breeze in your hair? Hmmm, maybe a little far-fetched. But seriously, you could stop at "how fun would it be to cuddle one of these?"
