Reflections

Clouds 4

The other day I stopped at a thrift store along the highway to poke around for a bit. (Cheap entertainment.)

On the way in I noticed a small Casio keyboard for sale (the kind with “light up keys” when you play the notes — an oldie, but a goodie) perched on a rickety stand on the dusty dirt “floor” outside. I didn’t pay much attention to it because my mind was on kitchen stuff (a girl’s gotta restock somehow) so I went inside in search of “treasures.”

Not long afterwards, a family came in — Ma and Pa with four young’uns in tow — who proceeded to scramble up and down each aisle in search of the next great “deal.” (Me, too.) Occasionally we bumped elbows and shared smiles and giggles as we went about our singular intended quests.

After I’d procured and paid for my $6.00’s worth of thrift store happiness, I exited the building intent on going home, but the keyboard beckoned…

On a whim (and because it was plugged in), I set my purse and “recycled Walmart bag” on the dirt floor and stood in front of the keys. What would I play?

An elderly gentleman (whom I’d conversed with earlier) was still slung on a bar stool (also for sale) and I wasn’t sure if he was loitering or just keepin’ an eye on things — but his face was weathered like the surrounding Oklahoma landscape and he interested me. He didn’t ask for a “concert,” but his stalwart presence and sense of fun elicited Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag” as the optimal piece to play.

Within a few measures of the opening notes, a lil’ girl who reminded me of “Scout” (Atticus Finch’s daughter in “To Kill A Mockingbird” — one of my favorite novels) came running out the door and was glued to my elbow, watching… wondering… listening.

Soon, her three siblings quickly joined her.

Considering the majority of my “audience” was under 13 years old, I switched gears and said: “Here’s one I bet you know.” Then I proceeded to play the ‘Happy Dance’ theme song from the Charlie Brown specials. I love that song. (They seemed to, too.)

More smiles and giggles followed… theirs and mine.

When I finished, the lil’ gal commented: “You’re realllllly good!” and my response was: “Well, I’ve been playing piano for over 50 years now, so I’ve had LOTS of practice.”

(Imagine that… 50 years!)

The old guy just grinned, probably more about my age than my piano-playing prowess.

After that, we parted company — four youngsters and an “oldster” (or two) bolstered by strains of music from my past — music which I no longer have (everything burned up in the fire), but God graciously granted me “recall” for that impromptu concert. Playing from ‘memory’ was never my strong suit; it’s a discipline my piano teacher did her best to instill in me, and which others highly recommend for ‘freedom of expression.’ Unfortunately, the best I ever did was to comply by memorizing a piece or two for the requisite “piano recital” every Spring. (I need to work on that again.)

But, on occasion — on this occasion — I “remembered” — if only for the look of sheer joy on those young (and old) faces. Music was meant to be shared.

Back in my “hey day”(a half-century ago!), my piano teacher had aspirations for me to become a concert pianist — but life turned out otherwise. Now, it’s merely a ‘reflection’ of my past — and probably why I love the reflections on the lake (and music) so much… and Debussy to this day. Or the Charlie Brown theme. :)

Although I don’t have my old music books any more, I still enjoy sharing “music.” (Especially when youngsters — and “oldsters” are involved.)

Here’s one I used to play, illustrated by lovely Monet paintings (another love) and gorgeous real-life photos. Enjoy!

Debussy’s Reflections In The Water

Sunset before the storm 1

Whether or not life works out the way you (or others) once dreamed, you can still make a difference.

Enjoying “Reflections In The Water,”

~Kim

Lessons Learned

Piano Lessons

I was seven years old when I began taking piano lessons.  Too young to know full well the implication that this was my calling (or at least one of them) and too naive to realize that what I learned applied to life.

That’s nigh on fifty years ago.  I can’t recall the early years; somehow I just knew how to play.

But, I distinctly remember piano lessons on Mrs. Rogers’ front porch every summer.

Once a week from the first week of June until the end of August, she conducted lessons in her home — a welcome break from my calculated walk down the long, tiled hallway leading to the piano room adjacent to the band room.  Trudging was my pace back then, especially when I shirked practice.  The minute my fingers hit the keys, Mrs. Rogers could tell how much time I’d put in the week before.

“There’s no faking it.  You either did it or you didn’t.”

Yet she was patient… forgiving… encouraging.

A note from 1973…

“It seems no time at all since, as a small child, you came to me to learn more about music.  In that short time, how you have grown to become a good musician and a lovely person!  Working with you has been a treasured experience for me, and a pleasure and reward, if perhaps I may have helped you on your way to a high degree of musicianship.  Affectionately, Edith Rogers, April the fourteenth.”

To this day, I can still hear the delicate, hand-painted glass wind chimes tinkling in the screen window of her front porch, prompted into melody by the slightest breeze… feel the frosty glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade in my hand offered before I took my place on the piano bench in her pale yellow, white-trimmed house… taste the paper-thin sugar cookies with a hint of lemon that she graciously extended on a 1950’s-style hostess tray with a fragile paper napkin, along with an update on her latest knitting project consigned by Saks Fifth Avenue.

Her artistry with knitting needles was as exacting as her piano lessons — proficient enough to supply Saks with sweaters knit to their customers’ specifications.

“Take pride in what you do.  Give it your best.  You never know who may be blessed by it.”

She was also a gifted painter.  Laser precise water colors of botanical specimens… tigers… flora & fauna vaguely reminiscent of Georgia O’Keeffe adorned her walls.  Yet, they were rendered softly — with restraint.

“Develop your own style.”

Ironically, her chief concern regarding whether or not I’d become a concert pianist was my inability (or unwillingness) to “narrow down my interests.”  That thought still tickles me, considering her diversity.

I also marveled at how her “reach” outdistanced the confines of the rural area where we resided by many, many miles.  In her younger years, she attended The McPhail School of Music in Minneapolis.  She confided once that she’d been given an assignment to harmonize a familiar melody.  After reviewing it, the instructor chided her for breaking every known rule of harmonization.  Then he stated, “It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Rules were meant to be broken, or at least challenged by another perspective.”

Later, she taught at a school for the blind in Boston.  Whenever I’d balk at a difficult passage, she’d get out one of her Braille music books and have me run my fingers over it note by note.

“Never let yourself be limited by vision.  There are different ways of looking at things.  Try again.”

She subsequently married and moved to Minnesota.  Acquired a job as an organist at the Catholic church half a block from her home.  Became widowed, but continued to play hymns every Sunday and religious holiday in the stifling hot balcony with the aid of a rear-view mirror perched on the organ console.  Insisted that I learn how to do the same.

Frankly, during the summer of sixth grade, I was more interested in stealing a kiss from the boy who lived across the street than learning rudimentary pedal techniques.  Yet she insisted I learn.

“Who knows?  One day you may have to support a family.”

I went on to play for hundreds of weddings and funerals.  Became a substitute organist at so many churches I lost count.  And I still managed to steal that kiss… my first.

Excerpts from a letter in 1974…

1)  Transpose #5, P. 9 “Heller 50 Selected Studies” into the following keys – A Major, E flat Major.

2)  Do study #12, P. 20, “Heller Thirty progressive Studies.”  Work for a fine Legato with hand position close to keyboard.  Pay close attention to phrasing, accents, and dynamics as indicated — always with a firm touch, so there will be clear, beautiful tones.

3)  Arpeggio Etude #2, P. 6.  Czerny Selected Studies, Bk 111.  Flexible wrist to allow easy movement of thumb under the fingers.  Divide study into portions as a check for practice and to avoid fatigue.

4)  This is your assignment; please give it the respectful consideration which it deserves.  Any less is unworthy of you.  Never settle for less than your conscientious best… never sell yourself short by a “ho hum” attitude or performance.  Whatever profession you eventually follow, do today’s work today.  For the rest of your assignment, do some piece of music of your own choosing and do an accurate job — again — your best!

Piano Lessons II

.  .  .

Mrs. Rogers passed away when I was a junior in high school.

It’s taken me until now to appreciate the blessing that she was and the magnitude of what she taught me.

She was not only my teacher, she was my mentor.

My friend.

How grateful I am.

Enjoying lessons learned,

~ Kimby