One of my earliest memories is of me as a very young child playing on a xylophone. Much to my delight, I was able to replicate familiar tunes. But what I really wanted was to learn to play the piano. We didn't own a piano. In fact, I don't recall knowing anyone who owned a piano. So I have no idea what inspired me in the first place.
I must have been five or six years old when my mother took me to a music teacher who declared (in Hungarian) "this child is tone-deaf and the only instrument she has any hope in learning is the violin." There was no way in hell that my father was going to allow the screeching of a violin in our home; so there ended my music career. Or so it seemed.
A few years later, as we began our acculturation in Aotearoa New Zealand, I found myself mesmerised by the pianos in school halls. I envied the teachers who got to play them; and was terrified of touching them in case I got into trouble. I actually don't recall the first time I finally got to press those keys, but I can tell you that I learned to play Chopsticks under the influence of friends. (How is it that seemingly everyone in the 1980s knew how to play Chopsticks on the piano - even when they didn't own a piano?)
By the 1990s I was determined to learn to play the piano. Eventually my parents relented and said (again, in Hungarian) "if you find a piano teacher, and find a piano we can hire, you can have lessons". I was a painfully shy child who grew into an equally shy teenager. My parents were hedging their bets that I would never find the courage to fulfill my end of the bargain. They seriously underestimated my determination. Within days I had found a piano teacher (Miss Sheat) who lived just up the road from us; and a store specialising in the sale and hire of pianos.
I can still feel the excitement of setting foot inside the store; filled with glorious pianos as far as my eyes could see. An older gentleman led my mother and I to the back of the store where the second hand hire pianos awaited their next owner - just like discarded, neglected, unwanted cats and dogs sit in cages waiting to be adopted into a forever home. Only these pianos were more like foster children - going from home to home, never feeling fully settled. Some looked very tired and worn; and although in tune, didn't sound the greatest. But I didn't care; I was getting a piano! Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would ever have my own piano (even if just hired).
Knowing that children have a tendency to take up instruments and discard them once the novelty wears off and practicing becomes a chore, this store made their bread and butter from hiring out (and taking back) pianos. You could only hire any particular piano for up to 12 months. After which you had to return the instrument and swap it for another (if you you wanted to continue with hireage) or you could purchase the piano (if you wanted to keep it). To sweeten the deal, they offered to deduct the hireage you had paid from the sales price of the piano. Seemed like a great risk-free option! (Remembering that my parents had zero faith that their teen-aged daughter would actually follow through to the point of practicing.)
I really don't know how it happened. But before I knew it, my mother was asking to see the new pianos towards the front of the store. And there it was. A shiny, brand-new Yamaha, with clean, modern lines, in a beautiful red-tinged wood. It was visually far more appealing than the aged, worn pianos we had been looking at; the keys felt smooth and easy to play; and it sounded crisp and clear. I was in awe. And apparently so too was my mother - for before I knew it, she was signing the hire contract on the brand-new Yamaha!!
I haven't a doubt that she couldn't afford it. But she somehow made it happen. And after a year, when I proved my parents wrong, my mother agreed to sign a hire-purchase agreement. The Yamaha became mine.
From the day it was delivered, until I finished high school, I played that piano every day. Every. Single. Day. Without fail, every morning before school I would go through a group of technical exercises (and later scales and arpeggios) and two-to-three pieces. For years I would have twice-weekly lessons (which I remarkably managed to fit in alongside skating training) and although I initially wasn't interested in learning classical music and refused to sit formal exams, I gradually fell in love with classical music and worked my way up to playing grade 8 level pieces. Miss Sheat also went out of her way to find Hungarian music for me - simplifying pieces so that I could play familiar music for my parents even when I was a mere beginner. Even now, I can hear my father humming and singing along to his favourite tunes. And before I knew it, I was performing during dinner parties and at the Hungarian Club for special occasions.
My parents were so proud of me.
And even now, decades after his passing, I can see the pride in my father's eyes.
Even after I finished high school and stopped having lessons; when my spare time was consumed with dance training and competitions; I continued to play the piano for pleasure. I would play for hours in the weekends. And whenever my brother visited, the night wouldn't end without us belting out a few songs.
But that all ended with the passing of my father. Everything I played reminded me of him. And the emotions I felt whilst playing were unbearably painful. So I stopped playing.
After my daughter was born, I occasionally tinkered. But in time, even that stopped. After spending most of my life listening to my father talk of how he was forced to play the piano - and having his knuckles hit (was it with a cane or leather belt?) whenever he made a mistake - I wasn't about to force any child of mine to play. So the piano sat there, patiently waiting for someone to pay it some attention.
There did come a time when MiniMe became interested in music. By chance, we discovered that she was a gifted flautist. She was also a talented singer and for a time was encouraged (by her singing teacher) to learn to play the piano. So for a brief period of time, my Yamaha was in regular use. Not by me, mind you. For I was still struggling with the painful emotions that I had come to associate with playing.
Then a decade ago - a decade after I had stopped playing the piano - my marriage ended. In the process of going our separate ways, we split our belongings. Without question, the piano would go with me. However, during a trip to Wellington immediately before moving out of our marital home, I fell in love with an antique piano. I was drawn to its mesmerizing beauty; and the comfort of its century-old wisdom.
My mother was devastated to learn that I had traded in the piano that she worked so hard to purchase for me. She may never forgive me. But the sad truth is that every time I sat in front of the Yamaha all I could think of was my father; and I would re-live the pain of losing him, over and over again, with the rawness and overwhelm of when it happened in May 2000. The pain was simply unbearable.
This gorgeous antique piano had travelled from the United Kingdom to Aotearoa New Zealand; and from Wellington up to Auckland to be with me. It became the symbol of my new beginning. The wise guardian that offered me unconditional love and comfort (just as my father did whilst still alive) as I re-claimed my identity and built a new life. Rather than feeling pain and despair, when I played this newly acquired antique piano, my soul felt nurtured, nourished, and uplifted.
I still didn't practice a great deal, mind you. Life was simply too busy for that. I did, however, make feeble attempts at accompanying MiniMe as she practiced the flute or her singing. Though mostly I just frustrated her. In time, I also became frustrated with myself. My fingers could no longer play the pieces I once found relatively easy; and I lacked the time and inclination to practice.
Somewhere in the busyness of life, I once again stopped playing.
I then moved to the opposite end of the country. A(nother) new beginning. I created a beautiful music room and vowed to put effort into playing the piano once again.
It was short-lived. Study and work consumed my days and in the evenings, my preference was to crochet whilst binge watching TV series.
Then earlier in the year, I spent a few days staying with someone who had recently purchased a digital piano. I was in awe with how easily the keys responded to my touch. It was an absolute pleasure to play. (Don't get me wrong, my antique piano is and always will be absolute joy to play - but the action isn't 'easy' and whilst the haunting nature of the sound it produces sings to my soul, it is terribly out of tune and I fear it may never be able to be properly tuned again.)
The experience of playing that digital piano during my travels ignited something within me and after returning home, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Months passed, but the desire to feel that ease of playing didn't fade. If anything, the yearning grew. At the same time, I had been battling debilitating brain fog for over a year; and one day it occurred to me that if playing musical instruments can be a protective factor against dementia, then perhaps it could also help lift brain fog. With my theory as impetus, I borrowed money from our family trust and (impulsively?) purchased a digital piano.
Yes, it arrived as a kit set.
And the instructions said assembly requires two people.
Bugger. I don't yet know how to clone myself.
The writers of the assembly instructions clearly (just like my parents) underestimated my determination. And after several hours and a (literal) sprinkling of sweat and tears, my new instrument was assembled and ready to play.
Given my history of attempting and subsequently failing to get back to regular piano playing, this time I am trying something different. I am dusting off my old piano books and going back to the start line. Rather than attempting the advanced pieces of my heyday, I am going to gradually work my way up from the basics. And this time, I'm going to practice with the metronome (something I despised in my youth). Moreover, I'm going to limit myself to just 20-40 minutes playing at any given time; and do so religiously, every day, just as I did when I was in high school.
Comments