Missing the music

My mom is a piano teacher. 


Let me rephrase that. My mom is a phenomenal piano teacher. She works a lot with special needs children. She teaches students that other people can't, and she doesn't have formal training. I think God gifted her with the ability to reach children through music, to work with each individual student to find the way they can learn best. I admire her hugely.


She also taught me, ungrateful wretch that I was! I took lessons from her from 1st grade till a little after I graduated from 8th. It was a fairly frustrating experience for both of us:) My poor mother, after a full day of listening to her students butcher and blunder their way through their lessons, she had to listen to my brother and I practice in the evenings. And poor us, we had to listen to her clap out the rhythm upstairs in the kitchen and yell down at us when we were doing it wrong. It was a frustrating experience for everyone.


Yet somewhere in the midst of all that, I found myself enjoying the music I was playing. Probably right around the time I could sit down and play an actual song. It was . . . relaxing. It helped me release my emotions.


I grew up with the sound of the piano almost continually in the house. It was either horrific (the little beginners), wince-inducing (intermediate), or fun (advanced students). And then there was the music when my mom practiced. I remember snickering when I'd hear her shriek in frustration over a section that wasn't coming together. I remember smiling faintly in the back of my mind when she played a song I particularly liked. But I especially remember her practicing on Sabbath morning as I dreamily woke up. It almost felt like she was welcoming the Sabbath into our home with beautiful music. I still love it when she's playing on Sabbath morning when I visit home, it feels like I've stepped back in time.


I play the piano only rarely nowadays. I don't own a piano and really only get the opportunity when I visit my mom (and her 3 piano's!). But every time my fingertips touch the keys of the piano I learned to play on, I feel transported. My fingers move in a way I can't explain, they pick up the muscle memory without complaint. I'm not particularly good, but there are certain songs I can play with ease that fill me with beauty and memories.


Tonight I'm missing the music. I wish I could sit down at the piano and get lost for awhile. I'm listening to some beautiful music and typing, but it's not quite the same. It's a gift that I'll always appreciate though, the gift of music that my mom gave me.