....the piano

Yogis,
The pandemic left us a mixed bag of effects. One of the positives for me is I can teach from anywhere. For example, when I go to NJ to spend time with my parents I can do so without cancelling classes. I did that this week.

This is not the first time I have set up my traveling studio in their living room. My mat framed by a couch and a director’s chair, with a baby grand piano as the anchor for my backdrop.

This week people asked who plays the piano. A simple question that started me on a path.

Memory is a funny thing. You tell a story for so long you believe it to be true but when put to the test you begin to question yourself. My recollection is I took piano lessons from first through fourth grade, and then switched to violin. Never to go back to piano.

My mom though, seemed to have always been able to play. She played well enough that she was my accompanist for numerous violin concerts. I remember us practicing together.

Now the piano sits quietly.

After another asked who plays, I finally went over and sat down. The music was opened to Beethoven’s For Eloise, a song I played innumerable times. I set my fingers on the keys and watched as my brain tried to reconnect the pathways that take black marks and magically turn them into music that fills a home.

Things started coming to me, like ‘every good boy deserves fudge’ for notes on the right hand. Left hand…..not so much, yet at times it knew exactly where to go on its own. Flats. Sharps. A lot to process. My brain felt creaky, but it slowly began loosening. It felt good!

My dad came in. ‘I didn’t know you knew how to play piano.’  I told my story as I remember it. He didn’t remember that. Later I was playing again when my sister arrived. ‘I didn’t know you knew how to play the piano.’ Hmmmm……

Into the picture albums I dove. Yes! There I am at 6 at the piano.  At 8 playing as my sister joins in. Clearly what we learn when young stays deep inside and only needs a spark to reignite it. Who knew? Obviously not my family.

I asked my mom to try to play. As we sat together, her fingers too began to find the keys that turned black little circles into music we could feel.

What do you have buried?

Reigniting,
SARAH