I don’t remember how old I was when I figured out that our household was an unusual one regarding music. It turns out that having a mother who played Chopin, Scott Joplin rags and all manner of folk songs and classical music on the piano was not the reality that any of my friends had in their homes. I am embarrassed to say that I not only took it for granted, I didn’t even particularly value it.
My mother lived and breathed music (still does) – I can hardly remember a time when our house wasn’t filled with it. My dad was a band teacher, and generally left his music at the office, but he had an undergirding appreciation for music that also permeated the household. We all learned to play instruments, we all learned to play the piano and we all sang – some more than others, it’s true. My mom could spend hours playing the piano and singing, but with six children she didn’t often have the opportunity for extended sessions, so she grabbed the time when she could. With a great deal of long-suffering, she taught most of us how to play the piano (two of the six of us had to get their piano instruction outsourced, my mom being wise enough to see that those two needed a teacher who wasn’t also their mother). With the exception of my oldest sister, none of us came close to my mom’s level of expertise, but she made sure we knew how to read music, a skill which all of us eventually came to appreciate.
Everything I know, enjoy and love about music was nurtured and encouraged in our home, as much by osmosis as by intentional instruction. I visited my mom today and she spent some time at the piano, although she’s not able to play as often as she’d like. Half blind and with arthritic fingers, she still has that musician’s touch. I love watching her fingers move over the keys.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning…but maybe I’ll sit down at our piano first and see what I can do.
Lynniebeemuseoday 