5/30/24

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

It’s been a rough week again, and getting rougher. But here I am.

Soon after Michael’s accident on January 17^th, I pulled the plug on my piano lessons. My full schedule was suddenly fuller with running back and forth to the hospital, having consultations with the medical folks taking care of Michael, and having to make decisions I never wanted to make. While the piano had become a refuge for me in the eight short months I took lessons, I just needed to unload as much as I could off my plate in order to keep my head above water (this is called mixing metaphors, and it’s a no-no, but so be it).

I’ve wanted to play the piano for a long time. My brother is a gifted organist and my childhood house always had a living room with either a Wurlitzer or a Hammond in it. I didn’t want to play the organ – I loved the sound of the piano. But my parents, reasonably enough, wanted me to take advantage of what was already there, if I was going to take lessons.

I said no. (And, to be completely honest, my kids never had to deal with hand-me-down instruments. What they wanted to play, they played: Christopher on the trumpet, Andy on the drums, Katie on the flute, and Olivia on the violin.)

When my big kids (the children from my first marriage) were growing up, I came across a piano for free if I hauled it. I talked my then-husband into renting a U-Haul and we brought the piano home. It was huge, one of those really old uprights that was as much lovely furniture as it was a musical instrument. Each of my kids took piano lessons, and I loved hearing them practice. I tried to learn through watching them, but it just didn’t seem to work that way. When I divorced that husband, the piano stayed with him.

Fast forward many years, into a new marriage, a new baby, kids growing up and going to college, kids entering their lives. On Facebook, my youngest daughter Olivia’s first grade teacher (Olivia was in high school at this time) mentioned that she was going to give away her beloved piano. She had a new grandchild and she wanted to make her music room into a grandchild room.

I didn’t hesitate. It was a piano who needed a home, and it came from a home where a wonderful teacher lived and I needed a piano. I hired two guys to move it and up it came. This was in August of 2018.

I had a piano in my living room. A dream come true. But…there it sat until May of 2023. When I finally signed up for piano lessons. Which lasted until 1/17/2024, when my husband was struck, then run over, by a minivan.

Along with a longing to play the piano, I’ve also had a long line of amazing teachers. Teachers that encouraged my writing, that lifted me up whenever I felt like my life was impossible and I’d never be who I wanted to be. Teachers who knew who I was before I knew who I was. Teachers who weren’t mine, but my kids’, and who helped me to understand them and become the best parent I could be. Even a teacher who not only gave me her piano, but quickly sewed a runner for the top of the piano and a bench cover that would match the colors of my living room.

Enter a piano teacher. I took my first lesson on May 25^th, 2023, at the White House of Music in Waukesha. My teacher is Eileen.

We laughed together over lessons. I felt the need to do well, but not the need to perform, to be the best. I felt instead her encouragement that I should just enjoy. That I should sink into the music, marvel that it was coming from my own fingers, laugh at my mistakes, and embrace the piano as a friend.

Embrace the teacher as a friend too.

After I told my teacher that I was going to have to step away from piano for a while, she stayed in touch. She emailed me often, checking on Michael’s progress, checking on how I was, and reminding me that she wasn’t going anywhere, the piano wasn’t going anywhere, I could return as soon as I could.

After Michael came home from rehab, I waited a few weeks, then told my teacher I was coming back. A few days before my lesson, Michael fell and had to be transported to the hospital, where he stayed for over a week. I canceled my lesson. My teacher kept emailing me.

Michael came home, I prepared to return to my lesson. And he went back into the hospital.

Last week, I returned to piano anyway. I began to play again, working on the lesson I’d been given back in January. When I walked into the music store, the staff called out, “Welcome back!” I went up the stairs and walked into the little piano studio.

Where my teacher met me with open arms.

We talked. And then we played.

I’ve been given a gift with the piano. Both with the piano itself, from a teacher, and with the lessons, from another teacher. And then there’s the piano itself.

This week, Michael is still in the hospital. I’ve been practicing my two piano pieces every day since my lesson last week. I was supposed to go for my lesson this afternoon.

A short time ago, I received a phone call from the hospital. Michael fell. I’m heading up there as soon as I finish writing this. I canceled my lesson.

But I will be there next week. No matter what.

And I will practice when I get home from the hospital tonight. I will have a moment of peace with my piano. I will enjoy the music. I will marvel that it’s me making it.

Thank you to Karla Hanson for the piano. And thank you to Eileen Warren, my piano teacher.

And thank you to my piano.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.