What are the "how to's" for living well? What sparks our spirituality? What triggers joyful purpose? What trips us up? These are the questions this blog will explore.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it...
"Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and magic and power..." Goethe
My dream is to play a little rag-time, jazz, and honky-tonk on the piano. No slow stuff please. However, the joy, rhythm and swing surging through me was thwarted, with my knowledge restricted to three notes to a chord, my fingers had no hope. I needed a music teacher -- someone relaxed enough to let me make mistakes while walking the line with Johnny Cash, keeping pace with Nova Scotia fiddlers and chording a little soft jazz with Nora Jones.
Thus, two years ago the search began in Halifax and Tucson. Then last fall I happened to look in a small local paper, read the ad twice, and there she was, hopefully, my music teacher. Arriving at the lesson, only a mile down the road, I wondered, would she be the one? I came out of the lesson dancing in the sunshine.
My first concert was last Sunday. I had three pieces to chord: Five Foot Two, Squid Jigging Grounds, and Uncle Milton Milks the Cow. The first piece was to begin the concert. I had it memorized for months. My teacher had added some swing, style and a jazzy beat. I loved playing it. The other two pieces came later in the program but their timing gave me "no end of trouble."
Concert Day: My family is in the audience. A pianist entertains us a half hour before it begins. He is a master performer. I am spell-bound. He plays with the ease of an angel; his fingers jumping, dancing over the keys just like I want to do. Yet the more he plays, my great rendition of Five Foot Two seems to shrink and so do I.
My turn. A young guitarist is to do the introduction. In practice, we have always made eye contact, now I am looking at her back. The accordions were closer, too. My music teacher whispers, "Don't go too slow." I am worried about going too fast. The audience quiets, everyone is ready. I play a strong C chord (only three notes). Oh my, what comes next? Is it A7th, E7th or D7th? Where is my head?
Thank goodness for my teacher pointing out where I was in the song. Thank goodness for accordions and any other instrument drowning me out. Painfully, I get through it but the spirit of Five Foot Two didn't -- no swing, no jazz, no me. I had succumbed, apparently, to "stage-fright".
However, I still have two pieces yet to chord and they are trouble. I cannot go back up on that stage. Then a tempting thought, "Maybe my teacher will play them." Yet a pesky inner-voice cautions, "You can't quit in the middle of a concert, Augusta! Play softly, concentrate on the sheet music and whatever you do, don't look at the audience."
Now it's my turn again. I eye the piano. My head seems to be sitting on someone elses shoulders, leaving me ending at the neck. The teacher -- my support and "Linus blanket" is kneeling next to me because someone has taken her chair. My non-existent musical balance rest entirely on everything being perfect. Yet looking down on the top of her head, a thought, "It's appropriate, as she is probably praying, like myself, that I was anywhere else but on this piano bench."
Two weeks later: Amazingly, I did haul the squid in, managed to milk Uncle Milton's cow without mishap. I was grateful and relieved -- two out of three. I thanked my music teacher and the next day she emailed me, " Wasn't it truly a great day. You were fantastic (generous but not true), gave it your all (true) and we are looking forward to enjoying more music together."
Hmm, maybe she will let me chord Five Foot Two again next year with my music-head on my shoulders. And best of all, the dream of playing my joy-spirit with rhythm and swing survives in its boldness, magic, and power...
image resource: fotoloa.com
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