Few things bring more sentiment than music. Whether it is a favorite song of today or one from the past, these evoke emotions and memories – sometimes happy and at other times sad, but always reflective of important stages or events. Now this does not count for lousy songs. Those we simply fast forward, delete, or change the station to avoid.
Music surrounded me growing up with parents who enjoyed a variety of styles: big band, waltzes, the 2-steps they danced to in college, jazz, and symphony. We always had a piano that Mama and my sisters played when we lived in Spokane. My grandmother, Peggy (my sister named her that, however her name was actually Elvira, nothing close to our moniker), had given her upright to my mom and she purchased a console. We would sometimes drive to her house and listen in awe as she played and sang. Even though I was just 4, I recall the tinkling of keys with such clarity.
Later we moved to Hailey, Idaho, where we rented so no piano traveled with us, but by third grade we relocated to Wilder and Peggy’s piano joined us there. My parents signed me up for piano lessons. I’d ride my bike out into the country for my instruction with my wonderful teacher. Although her name escapes me now, she inspired me to play, and even to practice a bit. When she moved, lessons ended but I continued to play, digging through the piano bench to discover classics, sheet music galore, and melodies I determined to learn. What a gift this piano is! I still play but sporadically so improvement after dedicated playing time dissipates when I step away for weeks or months at a time.
In 5th grade my dad signed me up for band; he also selected my instrument, the clarinet. What I longed for was a saxophone like he had played in high school and also my admired friend, Susan, had a sax, but an obedient child, I learned the keys and notes and played for about five years. I’m not sure why I quit – disinterest or the wrong reed device – but alas I did, much to the chagrin of my parents. While my clarinet skills waned, I still had the gift of reading music, recognizing a variety of instrument sounds, and of course, I had my piano. I also joined chorus which proved to be fun and taught me so much about harmonizing. My friends and I created a singing group and my dad booked us with every club to which he belonged.
Our group decided to surprise Dad by learning “The Shadowy Blue Saint Joe”, a solo my Nana, his mother, had written. We stood proudly, made a brief announcement, then launched into our rendition. My father’s teary reaction forced tears from the six of us and we barely made it to the end. When finished he thanked us, then asked me to never shock him like that again. All of these years later when I play that song or his other favorite, “Heart of My Heart” I shed some tears in his memory and his honor.
Our kids did not take to the piano. I tried to teach the boys to little avail and Allison had lessons but practicing did not come easy. She abandoned it and moved on to other pursuits. The grandkids love to play it now and have definitely mastered the low, loud notes, but are moving toward the quieter sound of the higher notes. We have just two rules: wash your hands first and do not pound. I hope that one of them will take a liking to playing and beg for lessons.
I also inherited my Uncle Charles guitar. For years it rested on a shelf or hid in its old case in the closet, but I few years ago I drug it out and plucked a tune or two. Using the Internet I tuned it to my ear (not to the professional ear of my instructor), figured out a few chords, and periodically I strum some Dylan or Young, not that you would recognize the melodies, but perhaps you’d know the words as I sing along. Again, when I practice, I improve and when I don’t, I don’t. If you spot calluses on my left fingertips, you’ll understand that I have been devoted to my guitar. Music is vital; listen, sing, and play to lightening your world.