absolute beginner

The Christmas Season

2010-01-09T17:22:00.000-08:00

The Christmas season was unkind to me this season. By December 17th I had to produce a politically important and but practically useless report to be presented at an Ethics Committee meeting. For the City's Management Christmas party, I had no wardrobe inspiration and wandered aimlessly around Del Amo Mall trying to find something festive. In the end, I purchased the wrong shade of too bright lip stick and a cute red sweater that was also worn by one of the Councilmen's wife (she looked better in it too). The actual Christmas Eve dinner and gift exchange went off well--the kids and Luke were all pleased with the gifts, and I also enjoyed a nice dinner at my sister's home in Encinitas. But by New Year's Day, I was sick. A week later, I was still sick. A few days after that, I got Pink eye and had to cancel my piano lesson.

All is not lost, however, as the Christmas season also brought me the challenge of learning some actual songs. I learned Silent Night and as of this evening, I have gained proficiency with Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I was hoping that lessons in the new year might bring more song assignments, but it appears I'm back to more finger exercises.

"Really, you weren't ready for Rudolph." I frown inwardly as I hear these my piano teacher's pronouncement. "I gave you those songs because it was the holidays and I wanted to see how far you would get."

I am hoping that she will now compliment me on my surprising progress as I did manage to play the songs--though my struggle was clear. But instead she says, "You really don't know how to move your fingers to the notes--we'll get you there."

So in 2010, along with my resolution to always warm up before tennis, to try veganism, and to read more books and drink more water, I resolve to keep practicing my finger exercises so that I can get more songs to work on. So much more fun!

Stretching

2009-12-06T09:53:00.000-08:00

I have always considered stretching therapeutic: done correctly, stretching should gently increase the fibers of your muscles extending your range of motion. When you stretch, your ability grows. Of course, it is wise to stretch regularly before pushing your body to do something strenuous. And wise people--in tune and aware of their body--will always stop before stretching beyond their capabilities and incurring the dreaded muscle micro-tears.

I published my last post on November 7th, almost a month ago. Shortly after that time, my body gave out completely. The worst of it happened during a piano lesson. I innocently turned my torso to face my teacher and I felt a twinge in my back just below my rib cage. Although I had not been feeling well before this lesson, I knew this twinge was different and that it signified real trouble. I got through my lesson and the rest of my evening, but when I woke up the next morning, I could not stand up properly. By the end of the day the spasm had lessened, but not before two trips to the chiropractor and some therapy to completely exhaust the muscle. I had a long discussion with Dr. Val about the possible cause of the problem and he attributed the spasms to a tennis match played over the weekend. Since the spasms started on a Tuesday night, I asked if the effect of the match wouldn't have been felt sooner--after all, I felt very good during the match and for the 48 hours that followed. Not unusual says the thoughtful and considerate doctor. "Exercise makes your body loose and then after rest, your body tightens up, and then you feel the effect." Yeah, maybe so.

I respect science and medicine. And I certainly respect practitioners who have devoted themselves to learning the art and science of medicine so that they can help in the healing of others. But for the ailments that trouble me--nothing life threatening, more pain management--I think that I have a large duty to reflect on my life and identify the possible culprits of pain.

I think it is no coincidence that my injuries became more severe when I began my piano practice. I had probably been pushing my body too hard before my practice began and I certainly underestimated the physicality involved with playing music. I also failed to consider how I would be affected by the mental stress of musical frustration. This new activity, which I ambitiously committed to practice every day--was the cliched straw that broke, or at least tweaked, my back. So while I stretch my mind to learn and grow as I practice the piano, I must also be careful to stretch my body and take care of myself so that my practice can continue.

Finding my way

2009-11-08T07:49:00.000-08:00

"I can see you all love your mothers." My professor of Women's History went on to say, that on the whole, the oral histories that were assigned to us provided interesting reading; however, they did not provide the objective research she was hoping for. What a fool: what was she thinking anyway? Did she really think that we could interview our mothers and write histories that were neutral, objective, or dispassionate? Had she done the same assignment, would her years of academic training replace the voice of love that should echo in an oral history about her mother?

I love my mother. This point was underlined on my visit to see her and my father this weekend. She gave me yet another incredible painting for my house. I must have 20 of her works by now and I look forward to collecting another 20 if I'm lucky. From her family's humble beginnings, she found a way to emerge as an artist despite a family that did not always support her dreams. She found a way to produce amazing art while raising a family and remaining committed to the unpredictable path of marriage. She found a way to stay true to her conviction that Art is the ultimate expression of the world around us. Her house if filled with masterful work, each generation of paintings reflecting her view of her changing world. Her world is Art both visual and musical. My father has been steadfast at her side, both appreciating and supporting her talent. And after dinner on Saturday she sat down at her piano and began to play for my father and me.

I have often felt that the word "play" is overused. When I think of the word "play" I think of it in the sense of children playing in a sandlot with no worry of their surroundings or the outcome of their efforts. On the other hand, when I hear a referee telling professional tennis players to "play;" I think it would be more appropriate to tell the athletes to "work." And when I sit down to practice, I am not "playing," as this is, for me, serious mental work. But when I watched my mother on Saturday night, she did play the piano, finding her own enjoyment of the instrument. Her hands skipped over the keys making melodies and progressions to no particular song, but it was pleasing to my ear.

"You should try this," she encouraged, speaking to me while her hands continued to fly about the piano keys. "This" as she explains it is not yet conceivable to me. I can't imagine the moment when I can talk to someone while playing an instrument. But I listen on, "get a song you already know, and just mess with it a bit...you will notice that logically, there are only so many ways the notes can progress." I get my music books and play the little songs I have learned. I actually produce the songs with acceptable competence and both Mom and Dad seem to enjoy my new fascination with learning the piano. I show my Dad the little music test at the end of Chapter One; and though he hasn't read a music book for 60 years, he is able to name all of the notes and symbols correctly. We have a nice discussion about music theory and improvisation. Mom asks what does my husband think about my piano practice. "He is very supportive," I say. She asks whether or not he also plays the piano and I say that yes, he does. And he is very much like my mother, he plays the piano with no worry. He doesn't know that certain fingers should play certain keys, or maybe he doesn't care. He just finds a way to play the tune that is floating around in his imagination. I say that his method is quite a departure for me, I don't think that I could learn as he does. "Ah," my mother says,"he is a fuzzy thinker and you are a linear thinker." I suppose.

Music is my husband's passion and evidence of his obsession pervades our house: music is almost always playing; he constantly searches the Internet for new and innovative artists; Cd's and boxed sets turn up intermittently as he has picked them up to find a new tune or to review the liner notes. When I was cleaning on Friday, I came across a lonely boxed set of Burt Bacharach sitting on the coffee table. I took a break from dusting to read some of Burt's history. "I always envied my mother," he says, "because she could play the piano by ear....keep studying she would say and I'll teach you. But there is no teaching someone to play by ear. You either hear it or you don't." Another quote of interest to me, "I think all the technical study, the solfeggio and learning how to be able to read music and write it down--it's all very helpful.....I think you learn the rules so you can kind of break the rules." These sentiments reflect my own goals for musical study--and I envision myself pursuing technical competence over the next several years.

So both my mother and my husband have in their own way reached a destination that is still very far away for me. Some day, I will reach the point where I can truly play; however, for my linear and literal brain, I require a teacher and study-- and lots of it! To learn something new will force me to consider my teacher's point of view as well as the views of other musicians and artists. But to learn as an adult affords me an additional luxury in that I, alone, can choose my course of study. In Madeline Burser's wonderful book, The Art of Practicing, , she encourages new students to "meet themselves"

All of us know know we need guidance in our musical journey. When we go to a teacher we hope that he or she will appreciate our sincerity of heart, and that the discipline we learn will enable us to express ourselves from the heart.....Each person's talent is unique and some are more gifted than others, but an intense desire to play well indicates that music is already inside the person, pressing toward the surface and needing to come out. Know this, and take heart from it as you make your particular journey with music.

I am in the process of meeting my musical self--to expand my intellect and to find a new form of self expression. I may begin my musical study in a very elementary and conventional way, with the clowns of Ada Richter's children's book explaining new concepts in music. But I will remember all of the views of my mother, my husband, my sister, my teacher, and all of the other artists I engage during my study. And when I learn to really "play" the piano, my music will be the expression and synthesis of all of the views that are right for me.

Theory Papers

2009-11-02T20:49:00.000-08:00

On the backside of Theory Paper Number One, in the lower right corner next to an illustration of a grand piano, I read the following words: "The Piano is a wonderful solo instrument; it combines melody, harmony and rhythm....and a wide variety of tonal powers. There are eighty-eight keys on the piano keyboard and these eighty-eight keys produce all the different tones of the full orchestra, from the very lowest notes to the highest." The exercises contained on Theory Paper Number One include writing notes on the keyboard; tracing the piano keys; writing notes on the staffs, tracing the treble and base clefs; and writing numbers on the fingers of the right and left hand. As noted in previous blogs, I have difficulty reading and remembering notes, so I immediately see the value of the completing these worksheets--I even write my name, the date, and my age. I am very happy with this two-sided piece of paper first copyrighted in 1944 by Montgomery Music in Toronto. But I'm not convinced that anything on this sheet is actually theoretical.

I do have some theories about music. I think there are two very different paths for the beginning musician. One type of student might be interested in pursuing technical mastery by learning increasingly difficult pieces and interpreting all of the complex notes and time signatures and styles. Perhaps this is how many of the classical composers approached music. On the other hand, many of the musicians I know don't read music at all. They seem happy to conjuring melodies through trial and error and finding chords that work well together. It seems to me that much of popular music is composed in this manner, with very simple, yet pleasing even powerful melodies and rhythms.

But I am a beginner, and maybe my theories about music further underline my musical naivete. Two sides to every story so says the cliche. Yet maybe two theories are not enough. The more I learn about music, the more carefully I begin to listen to music. When I listen to a piece like John Adams' work, "The Chairman Dances," I am amazed at the complexity of the orchestrations, but I am most moved by a break where the music slows to a gentle waltz. The seemingly simple notes, quietly and slowly played brings tears to my eyes. I begin to understand that to categorize technical brilliance and creative imagination as opposites would be simplistic and unfair.

There are eighty-eight keys on a piano, providing a range of tonal power found within an entire orchestra. Perhaps there are eighty-eight ways to understand and learn about music. I know that I am in book one and page one of my Theory Papers; I can't wait to get through the first eighty-eight pages.

It's hard.....

2009-10-27T12:41:00.000-07:00

I have to say, in the beginning, it was easier. Sometimes I used just one hand for the whole tune or maybe I used two hands, but both hands were playing the same note, which is pretty much the same as using one hand. And in the beginning, the little tunes usually involved a scale so that the notes were right next to each other. Thus, I didn't actually have to process the notes (i.e. read the music) as much as move my fingers in succession. Then, I as detailed a few weeks ago, the very very simple tunes became merely simple, and I had to actually get my hands to play different notes at the same time: it was hard.

As with any subject, the more you learn, the harder it gets. And again, hard is a relative term. One of my friends sent me a link to a video performed by a mutual acquaintance and she was amazing. The performer seemed to be intensely focused on the music while at the same time, her hands moved effortlessly across the keys, almost as if her hands were separate animals running to their own delight. I can't conceive of having that kind of coordination and brain processing power. I can't play a half note and a quarter note at the same time, well, maybe if the the left hand plays the half note and the right hand gets to play to quarter notes--somehow that is easier than the reverse. I told my piano teacher that it is because my right hand is a more talented animal than my left hand. She smiled. She told me to try again and then she seemed amazed that I couldn't master this simple feat of coordination, "It's like rubbing your tummy and patting your head." She is obviously not reading my blog.

But I do enjoy the challenge. There are certain parts of each exercise that appeal to me or that I find pretty. Sometimes, I practice these pretty parts to excess with just my right hand. I do this because it is easy, and it is pretty, and sometimes, that is enough for me. Tonight; however, as I played only the treble part of the "March of the Space Patrol," and pretty as it is, I found myself itching to play the base part too. Without both hands, the music is incomplete and even though I struggle and mangle the notes, using both hands does provide the needed texture. After struggling for awhile, I go back to last week's assignments and what was difficult last week now seems easier. So for now, I will push forward with both hands because I know that deep down, that is the only way to progress and find true musical satisfaction. And when I get too confounded by the difficulty in mastering asynchronous dual hand coordination, I will remember my sister Carol's words of encouragement, "It's hard, so if it seems hard, that's why."

A blue day

2009-10-17T15:46:00.000-07:00

While practicing is never easy, I usually find it pleasant. Today, not so much. I struggled--nothing new--but I was also impatient. Instead of my normal mental refrain,"this will get easier;" today I sighed with exasperation, "will this ever get easier?" Add a word, a little punctuation and everything changes.

For this week, I have several exercises to practice. A few carryovers from last week: "Mary had a little lamb", played with G7, and C major chords; "Jingle Bells", again with chords; a little ditty called "Mr. Kangaroo" in which I practice staccato; there are two other tiny unmemorable songs, so much so I can't remember their names. As a warm-up for my practice I have technical exercises each entitled with the theme of the exercise. For example, "Walking," consists of 1/4 note scales; "Jumping," 1/8 note scales, etc. As for "Deep Breathing"--I'm not so sure what the theme is here, but I notice that I am barely breathing as I play it. Perhaps partial suffocation is part of my problem.

My teacher has written down a few suggestions that I should remember as I'm practicing. While practicing,"Mr. Kangaroo," I should focus on keeping my hands together. For "Jumping," I should be playing as fast as I can. Of course, in every exercise, she stresses the importance of counting. She has tried to correct my posture so that my hands are curled and I can strike the piano keys without moving my non-playing fingers. I try to incorporate this finger form as I practice and it sets me back. I fumble badly trying to play tunes that were easy for me last week.

I know that learning is rarely linear. The old cliche, "one step forward, two steps backward," clearly applies to my attempt to learn music and to play the piano. Usually, I can employ a positive attitude to get me past the setbacks on onto something new. But its been a bad week. My kitty died, my back and neck are such that I can't play tennis or swim. Then I got a bladder infection.

Well, at least tomorrow is another day and maybe it will be a green day, or a yellow day--hopefully not a blue day or the dreaded gray day.

Can you walk and chew gum.......

2009-10-14T20:47:00.000-07:00

Tonight I met my worst piano fear: my hands had to work independently to play different notes at the same time. Of course, to execute this cruel task, I should ideally be reading two different lines of music and somehow conveying the instructions down to my waiting fingertips. What can I say; I look for ways to cheat!

Actually, I have always cheated; well, at least for the three weeks I have been taking lessons. It's not that I don't read the notes, but I try to find ways to simplify the assimilation of information to my poor tired brain. There is always the tried and true method of practicing with one hand, and then with the other, eventually playing both hands at the same time. But I confess, I am partial to reading the treble staff. I have relied on trying to pick out the symmetry of the two staffs. If the pattern of the two lines is the same, then both hands are playing the same notes. So while I am reading the treble staff, I am merely noticing that the notes are the same on the base staff. Tonight, however, my feeble brain lurched as I realized that the two lines were different --what a horror!

I actually had to get a pencil and write down the letters next to the notes--evidence of how poorly I read music. I console myself: I am, after all, an absolute beginner so I try to set my expectations a reachable level. I look closely at the notes on the two staffs. They are half notes, so at least I can proceed slowly and still remain true to the music. On the treble, the notes are E, D, C. On the base, the notes are G, F, E. Using just my right hand, I can easily play the E, D, C notes. Then, using just my left hand, I can easily play the G, F, E. But trying to play both together results in a brain fart and muddled keystrokes--what a mess. I try it a few more times. I get cranky, what beginner wouldn't get cranky? Then I see it--a way to cheat! I notice a pattern: both hands will play the same pattern of notes, that is three notes in descending order--only the starting point is different. For some reason, this realization is helpful, calming. I push down on the keys with my right middle finger and my left thumb and then the rest of the notes come easily.

Perhaps someday, I will gain competency at reading music. I will look at the notes and my fingers will be able to translate the c, or the d, and alert my brain to those notes while at the same time, my brain can churn out a steady rhythm in accordance with the proscribed time signature. But until that happy day arrives, I will cheat by finding patterns that will make music more manageable for me.

Perhaps, cheating in music, especially in beginners, is not all that unusual. At the very least, I hope it is not a mortal sin.

Requiem for Richter

2009-10-13T21:05:00.000-07:00

"There is something charming about the singular line of a pen and ink drawing." Though I hated Mrs. Berry, my high school art teacher, after 30 years I still think about her remark. And it's true, no matter if the lines are not executed with perfect precision, or if there is not a lot of flashy color or composition, the lines of a pen and ink drawing still manage to capture the essence of a landscape, a portrait, or a still life. For me, the sound of a solitary piano piece has much of the same charm and elegance as the slender line of the pen and ink drawing--the isolated sound of the piano by itself can eloquently covey the essence of emotions, of happiness, sadness and longing.

Yesterday, I had to put down my cat Richter. She was thirteen years old and had always been a quiet soul, spending much of her day under the bed. The veterinarian said she had a mass in her tummy, but Richter hadn't complained, and showed no outward symptoms until a few days before the end. In the last week, she had a hard time keeping her food down,and she would stare blankly at the walls. Then on Sunday, when I came home from a weekend out of town, she was in obvious distress. She was drooling and licking her chops, and crying sadly. She couldn't purr anymore.

Richter was not the easiest cat to love. When she was a kitten, she used to hide in closets and in plants. Not outwardly affectionate to most people and certainly not a playful cat, my husband often referred to her as a "crappy pet." But I remember the moment when I first loved Richter. She was still a kitten and I was trying to coax her out of her hiding place in the kids room, and I spoke softly to her and held out my hand. She looked at me and before I even began to pet her, she began to purr loudly. Instantly, I realized that Richter needed someone to love her despite her shyness, and that love would be rewarded with all the purrs she could give. While Richter might spend her days under the bed, at night she would surface, seek me out and give me all the love and purrs that she had been hiding all day. And I never ceased to be amazed at the happiness that simple creature provided me. Just stroking her soft coat, seeing her closed eyes, and hearing that loud rumbling purr would calm me even after the most stressful day. In a world where chaos often reigns--people kill each other for no good reason, countries start wars for no good reason, people lose their jobs for no good reason, and people die of diseases for no good reason--the simple unconditional love of a cat is a treasure.

Tonight, I was listening to "1st Waltz" by Craig Armstrong from his Piano Works album. As with all of the pieces on the album, the waltz is played by a single piano, needing no adornment of flashy accompaniment. I aspire to some day master a tune that is so expressive and beautiful. It is mournful in its tone and it made me think of my lost kitten. I wish I could write such a piece for my Richter, but alas, I have only very simple knowledge of music. I would like to think that Richter wouldn't mind a very simple piece. She never asked for much. So I have crudely written a little tune for my little girl cat:

4/4 time

Rich-ter dar-ling lit tle cat
c c d d e f g (half note here)

Come and sit upon my lap
c c d d c c c

Sleep and purr and sleep all day
c c d d e f g (half note here)

Sleep so soundly, sleep always
c c d d c c c

Rest in peace Richter
October 1996-October 2009

Making sense of the universe

2009-10-05T21:37:00.000-07:00

My friends tell me that I am very literal. Thus, it is no surprise that I am bothered that middle C is not in really in the middle of the piano. I counted 52 keys on the piano and middle C is the twenty-fifth key if you start counting from the left. There are 27 keys to the right of middle C (yup, the math works!). Again, starting from the left, ABCDEFG, repeats 7 times, with a remainder of ABC at the end (again 7 x 7 = 49 and with the extra ABC, I can account for all 52 keys). I don't even like math, but I did feel compelled to find the true center of the keyboard. Perhaps this was because I was always leaning to the left on the piano bench to help me line up my fingers with the off center middle C. Now failing to place a middle marker away from the true center of the keyboard might be something that I am lame enough to do, but why is the piano set up that way? Anyone know?

I am also vaguely disturbed that there is one of those black keys to the far left, and then the pattern begins, 2 black keys, space, 3 black keys, space, 2 black keys, etc. And then at the end, there are only the three black keys. Again, this asymmetry just seems wrong to me. Wouldn't it be much more pleasant if the piano keys ended with G? Then I think the spacing would be more regular--but that's just me and my aesthetic sense of design--I like predictability and perhaps this is a personality flaw.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, I'm spending a lot of time on the middle and lower CDEFG keys. But since I was studying the keyboard layout, I took the time to play some of the assigned exercises in the higher and lower ranges. Then I tried playing the scales backwards, well, maybe that's not quite correct. My left hand played CDEFG while my right hand played GFEDC at the same time. I liked the way it sounded.

While playing notes in opposition is hardly subversive, I was quite happy that I ventured outside of my assignment. I also looked ahead in my books to see if I could understand any of the exercises I'm likely to receive at my next lesson. The pages ahead had some mysterious looking notations, but I did play a few exercises, and I think I got them just right too.

Some day I hope it will all make sense, or at least that I will learn to accept it. After all, it is doubtful that the piano keyboard will be redesigned to please me. Dammit!

To thine ownself be True

2009-10-04T07:21:00.000-07:00

"In the bigger scheme of things, Julie & Julia is an inconsequential work." I found this amazing quote while searching AMAZON.com for information on Alexandre Desplat's fine work on score for the movie, Julie and Julia. Everyone's a critic and this particular reviewer, while raving about Mr. Desplat's musical ability and the absolute perfection of the score to the tone and tenor of the movie, dismissed the score as "inconsequential." After all, it's a movie about cooking and blogging--hardly the inspiration for an opus.

Indeed, there is a light tone to the Ms. Powell's memoir and also to the movie. But the underlying themes couldn't be more important. Ms. Powell stresses the value of hard work, finishing what can seem like an impossible tasks and believing that your fellow humans will come to care about that work. The movie certainly underlines this theme with the careful telling of how Julia Child managed to publish "Mastering the Fine Art of French Cooking." Ms. Child and her co-authors pursued years of work fueled by faith that their work was important and worthwhile. This self-belief allowed Ms. Child to overcome obstacle after obstacle. Throughout the decades of struggle, Ms. Child established strong friendships and relationships that eventually helped her to success.

The film really does not give equal time to Ms. Powell's own journey to literary success. The film glosses over the nine years that Ms. Powell worked as a temp while trying to write a novel. And there is only fleeting mention that Ms. Powell had an important academic career highlighted by editing her college's literary journal. But to read "Julie and Julia," the reader can see at once that this book is not beginner's luck. Ms. Powell has a clear voice: funny, poignant and with something to say about life, humanity, and of course, the goodness of butter. Julie often doubts the feasibility of the Julie/Julia project, and wonders who would actually appreciate her struggles with lobster killing and aspic molds. With very few exceptions, her husband and friends are steadfast in their support.

Similarly, I too learned the value of expecting and appreciating the kindness of others this weekend. My husband had visitors from out of town and I was shy about my practicing. Scott and his daughter, Emma, are both accomplished musicians. Emma is only 14 and can be very outspoken and I felt that she might make fun of my lack of knowledge. I really didn't want to be shamed by a teenager. But in fact, when I finally did sit down at the piano and began to practice, Emma had some kind words of encouragement for me. "Keep at it," she said, "it will get to be more fun when you can play more than scales." So shame on me for assuming that Emma would be anything but interested and supportive.

So to everyone whoever felt that they did not need immediately succeed, remember that nothing of consequence is ever accomplished quickly. To learn to cook, to write, to play an instrument, or even to create world peace takes hard work and years of perseverance but mostly, it takes a vision that is true to yourself. And you will be surprised at the people who will admire, respect and support your dreams.

Perfect Balance

2009-10-02T20:09:00.000-07:00

I practiced twice this evening--once before happy hour and then again after happy hour, with a glass of wine on the piano no less. Okay, in my last blog, I oh so sincerely established myself as a student and a hard working student at that. Some might think my lax attitude this evening might seem a set back to effective practice. But screw it, I can't be serious all the time--what fun is that? Besides, all that seriousness makes me tense, and when I'm tense, my wrists hurt. And all that concentrated effort causes me to over-think, and then my brain hurts: I think some perspective is needed.

When last I wrote, I was getting quite wrapped around the axle about trying to translate both clefs at the same time as well as being confounded by the rhythm matter. All of my worries at this point involve technical problems--reading the music, holding my hands in the right position, trying to understand the timing and the counts of the notes. I spent the next 24 hours anxious--how will I overcome the foreign feeling that music holds for me? I got a little advice on the subject.

Not only do I take music lessons, I also take tennis lessons. My tennis professional also happens to be an accomplished jazz pianist. He knows I am taking piano lessons and he politely asked about my progress. I told him that music overwhelmed me and that I was struggling with reading music--that I had no other experience that could help me understand musical concepts, and that I was concerned with my inability to apply any kind of rhythm to music. He asked if I was good at math. "Ha ha" I say, "I totally suck at math." "Well, no matter," he said, "maybe that won't be your strong point." "Don't worry about the two lines," he says, "it's not like you will really need to read each note when you play a piece. You will have practiced enough, that it's mostly memorized, and then you will just read the note or two that you have difficulty with." His words are reassuring.

When I play tennis, my body must execute a technical stroke, and my mind must formulate a strategy. Sometimes I struggle to find the right shot--to get my feet in the proper position and I end up pushing the ball with little energy and little conviction. But when I'm playing really well I am not concentrating on technical precision or strategy. Instead, I have a vision of what the next shot will look like and a sort of deja vu of what the shot will feel like. Not too much thought at all. At these times--and they are all too rare--I have stopped thinking about technique and I just enjoy hitting the ball.

I think that any musician must achieve a balance between technical competence and enjoyment of playing music. Tonight, I went down to Baleen, a restuarant by the Portifino Inn in Redondo Beach. I had a glass of wine, some fish tacos, some salad, and I saw a very beautiful sunset while listening to the seals in the harbor. I arrived back at the house, poured the cup of wine and started to practice. Not technically perfect, but I was relaxed, happy, and I just enjoyed playing music.

Lesson 2: What are you?

2009-09-30T20:40:00.000-07:00

A lesson is opportunity to learn, and also an opportunity to show what you have learned and to find out if you have learned it well enough to progress to the next lesson. Every student hopes for an "A" or at least a passing grade and I'm pleased to say, my teacher took out her red pen and placed an "A" on several of my assignments. This makes me happy. Deep down, I know that red letter is no measure of how well I really know the music, but I was able to perform satisfactorily and part of playing music is in the performance.

But it's not all good in the performance arena. I did struggle with some exercises that were "effortless" in my practice. My teacher has advised me to continue with those exercises until they become second nature. She also said that my fingers need to be close enough to the keys to be ready play at any moment. I have a tendency to lift my hands up and then press down on the keys as I read the note, causing hesitation as I try to remember what finger goes to what key. My sister, also a piano teacher, told me to diagram my fingers with numbers, "remember those turkeys we used to make with our hand for Thanksgiving--draw one of those and number the fingers." I chuckled at the image. But later, when I asked my teacher why there was a small 5 at the beginning of the music on the base clef, she reminded me of the finger numbering schematic that she had shown me at the first lesson. So I guess will have to review some of the concepts learned at lesson 1.

In addition to the review of lesson 1, my teacher gave me a lot to practice for my next lesson. She introduced my to a "dotted half note" which to my way of thinking allows the pianist to include odd number counts as well as even number counts to music. Also, I learned about the "rest," and this also makes me happy, because I get a "rest" from trying to concentrate on both the treble and the base clef. In the practice assigned to me this week, the left and right hand are playing the same notes with the same timing--but I know that soon enough, I will need to be able to assimilate both clefs simultaneously and somehow get my hands in order to play the notes properly. It's a foreign concept to me. Math and language are similar in that you are able to handle one instruction or word at at time. To read two lines at the same time--that concept seems really difficult to me. I will trust in practice, practice, practice and more practice so that it becomes "second nature."

Finally, the most difficult part of the lesson involved discerning a rhythm to the notes. While I was able to play the correct notes, I lack any feel for the timing of the song. Even in the basic CCC, DDD, EEE, FFF, GGG, exercise sounded so much better when my teacher played it, because she gave it a very distinct timing. I think that to become a good musician, it will be crucial for me to develop a sensitivity to timing in which the music should be played. I am not hopeful that I have this ability. I am reminded of an episode in my English Composition class at UCLA in which my professor assigned a poetry explication of one of Shakespeare's sonnets. I did not get a red "A" on this paper, rather a note to see the professor during his office hours. Being somewhat shy, I dreaded this encounter, and I was not soothed when he explained to me that he couldn't grade my assignment because I did not actually "explicate." "You need to read the poem," he said, "you need to understand the patterns of the meter and you need to be able to explain how it conveys a deeper meaning to words of the poem." I stammered and tried to explain that I had no experience of understanding how meter could reinforce meaning. He laughed at me, told me to lock myself in a quiet place and repeat the sonnet until I truly understood the love that a Shakespearean sonnet was meant to convey. Surely, if the poem had survived for five centuries, it was because people understood that connection between the words and rhyme. I think that, like the poetry explication, understanding mystery of musical timing will force me to develop a new sensibility--always a challenge for the adult learner.

And so after my second lesson, I have to tackle some substantial challenges. To progress and understand some of these concepts will take a lot of concentration and some seclusion in a quiet room repeating over and over again until I understand. But while I am concerned about my lack of sensitivity to rhythm and timing, I do have confidence that I can learn. I recall a conversation that I had during one of many hockey tournaments that I attended with my son, who played club hockey for several years. One of the other fathers offered to buy me a coffee drink and as we walked through the freezing courtyard to Starbucks he asked me, "and what are you really, Laura?" A bit stunned, I replied, "I'm an accountant." "No," he said, "that is your job, but what are you? What is your passion, what makes you happy, what do you do? A lot of Americans will answer my question just as you did, with their occupation, but when you ask a European, they will answer, 'I'm a skier,' or "I'm a traveler.'"

Occasionally, I think about this conversation and I try to pinpoint that one thing in my life that defines me. I come back to one constant in almost every aspect of my life--be it work, or music, or tennis, or writing--I want to learn and I'm willing to take the time to study, to question and to practice: quite simply, I am a student.

Simplicity Itself

2009-09-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

I steal this title from last chapter of Julie and Julia. Finally, I finished the book today and I have to say, that for me, the end was not as well done as other parts of the books. I have to hand it to Julie though, she never misses an opportunity to give homage to the woman that inspired her and even goes as far as to eulogize her (Julia Child had the good timing to die at the age of 92 just as Ms. Powell has finished her "project" ) as well as paying an odd homage to the Julia Child exhibit at the Smithsonian where Powell and her husband leave a pound of butter as an offering to the goddess of culinary greatness. While I like the syllables and sentiment of the title, I didn't really see how it described the last recipes that Ms. Powell cooked. Nor did it embody the journey from Ms. Powell's New York home to Washington D.C.

I think; however, this title does embody my attitude and progress for my practice tonight. My teacher actually gave me four assignments for this week. One was a sheet of finger exercises that comprised the following progression: CCC, DDD, EEE, FFF, GGG, FFF, EEE, DDD, CCCC (play if forwards, backwards: first with the left hand, then with the right,and then with both hands). Second play Mary had a Little Lamb (again, right, left, both); then Peter Peter Pumpkin eater (really nothing more than C, D, E, F, G, F, E, D, C repeated 2 more times and then on the fourth time, a variation of G, G, C at the end--just to see if I'm paying attention). I also had some exercises reading and playing simple notes, played at various time (whole notes, half notes all played at 4/4 time) on both the treble and bass clefs.

To the accomplished musician, I would imagine that these exercises are beneath basic, simple, or even mundane. Yet when first tried to complete these assignments, I alternated between laughter and frustration. And after a week of trying, I'm happy to say, that I am comfortable with these exercises and can perform them almost effortlessly. All in all, I'm feeling pretty comfortable and happy about my progress, particularly that I managed to quiet my mind's chatter about all that is possible--the notes, upside down, right side up, whole, half, quarter, the stars in the sky, the beginning of time, etc--and instead concentrated on the simple task that sat before me on the music stand of my piano.

I am ready for the next lesson and the wonder that awaits me.

My First Lesson: I get lost

2009-09-25T15:23:00.001-07:00

Although I mapquested the address, and I left myself plenty of time to find my piano teacher's house; I still managed to get lost and I arrived a few minutes late. Whenever I go somewhere new, even if I know the area and I've checked the address, I still get a bit anxious. What if I wrote the address wrong and knock on the wrong door, smiling with all my expectation for learning something new only to have an irritated human yell at me for interrupting their dinner hour (my lesson is at 6:30 in the evening). My anxiety was compounded because in her neighborhood, the streets are numbered, but they repeat; that is, there is 280th Street, and there is also 280th Place. It would be easy to get confused. But as I hurried from the car to what I hoped was the correct address, I found instant reassurance: on one of the steps near the entrance, a musical note is emblazoned on the cement. Surely, this is a music teacher's house.

I actually met my teacher before I became her student. She plays tennis at West End Racquet Club where I also play and I have played ladies doubles with her once or twice. On those occasions, I didn't know she taught piano, I only knew that she was an extremely focused player who expected success on the court. I decided that I might employ a higher degree of concentration than usual, so as not to embarrass myself. As I recall, we did win the set, but I left the court just a little intimidated by her presence.

Yet as a teacher, she is charming and easy to work with. After recovering from her initial shock regarding my lack of piano experience, she found me a suitable book and she introduced me to "C." The keys do align with A, B, C, D, E, F, G. But apparently, "C" is the vital key. Helps to get your hand started of in the right place. She gave me some easy progressions to play concentrating on C, D, E, F, G (I guess I really shouldn't think about A & B right now, but I am haunted by the thought that they are lurking on the keyboard and waiting to confound me after I am more familiar with C, D, E, F, G).

Of course, easy is a relative term. I can't really get my fingers to accept the C, D, E, F, G and perhaps my mild dyslexia is at work here. The student that has a firm grasp of right and left might do better than the student who must constantly remind herself that her wedding ring on her left hand and that C is to the left of D. I also get a little confounded that on my right hand, C is struck by my thumb, but on my left hand C is struck with my pinky finger. For some reason, this bothers me. Another problem is that I have no parallel that might help me understand. I have decent finger dexterity having used a ten-key calculator, and a computer key board for the last 30 years. But there is a significant difference in these skills. The home row in both the ten key and the typewriter are constant. That is, once you have your fingers in the right spot, you can reach the entire range of keys. Not so with the piano. At some point, I will have to learn to move my right hand from middle C to high C. And I will also need to move my left hand from low C, to--I don't know the right term yet--lower C? How does this work? Do I look down at the piano keys?

And still, I am only using the white keys. I have no idea what those black keys are for. I am beginning to become unsettled by the length of the key board and the number of keys, but I do my best to hide my anxiety. My teacher doesn't seem to notice and she gives me some very, and I mean very, remedial information on reading musical notes.

She starts out with easy tasks. She shows me the note symbol for middle C, and she asks me to find it again on the page. I can do this. She then shows me D, and then E. And again, she asks me to find these notes wherever they appear on the page. And again, I can do this. But when I get home and I start to practice, I realize that I do this task by rote--I do not understand why the note is where it is on the lines. I do understand the concept of the time signature. I get that. I makes sense to me. And the idea of treble clef and base clef also make sense, that is the right hand will play the treble and the left hand will play the base. I am a little nervous about trying to read both clefs at the same time and trying to get my hands to understand what I am reading, but I am trying to remain calm. After all, that is certainly another lesson.

I continue practicing these simple assignments and soon my mind begins to race. All those keys, all those notes, some round, some with stems, some upside down. Remember, my teacher is giving me basic, basic stuff, and I'm already getting a little nuts. I think of the Nocturnes that my sister played for me the last time I saw her and I try to imagine what the music must look like. In fact, I have seen her sheet music for Chopin and it is pretty to look at. The notes seem so firmly planted on the page, the lines of the measures so evenly spaced, and there are some spherical types of lines--who knows what those are? I also notice that my piano has pedals--three of 'em. It's official--I am lost.

I remember in college, I took Astronomy as my physical science for no other reason than I like a starry night. The class started out easily enough. You know, solar system, 9 planets and the like. But then we learned about angular momentum, galaxies, the big bang and special relativity. After that class, I still found a starry night to be beautiful, but also very baffling. I was overwhelmed at all of infinite possibilities. I am hoping that with some persistence and a patient teacher, I can begin to accept the amazing number of possibilities that exist in music. I am hopeful that I can find not only beauty, but peaceful study.

We Begin

2009-09-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

The words "We begin" are the title of the first lesson in my piano book. Next to these words, illustrated clowns dance around the musical notes as if to encourage the young student's progress. But I am not young--not even close. I am 48 and an absolute beginner at music.

My piano teacher could not hide her shock at my lack of experience; she recoiled a bit, tilted her head and after some consideration said, "that is highly unusual." "Most people," she explained, "have some experience--I mean they used to teach in it school surely when you were a kid."

"I can't recall," I say, and I can't. I'm not really sure if it is a symptom of my age that I can't recall what I learned in primary school, or if I really didn't learn it. I vaguely remember an auto-harp, but not much else. And I'm not entirely sure that any instrument name containing "auto" in the title qualifies as a true instrument.

But why now, the reader may ask. A good question with a simple answer--I love the sound of the piano. I grew up listening to my mother play Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto. My mother was quite a sight to see when she played that piece of music. I can still see her with my child's eye, all her red hair piled up on her head in some kind of French twist, wearing a 60's pant suite and feverishly pounding on the keys. I also have memories of my sister practicing Fur Elise for a piano recital. She played it over and over and over again. It's a graceful piece.

So piano is a bit of a family tradition, it just skipped me as a child. I did not have the discipline to practice and I think my mother realized that almost immediately. My older sister, on the other hand, had discipline and she had the desire to learn. And she was, and still is, very talented. I can understand why my mom gave up on me so quickly (I think I had just one lesson with a neighbor up the street), the family had limited funds and it made a lot of sense to invest in my sister's piano career.

But people change--I can practice now, and I can work hard now and my kids have recently flown from the nest leaving me in a forced sort of metamorphosis. So now I begin.

The idea for this blog is simple: practice 30 minutes , and then write for thirty minutes at least 4 days a week. This inspiration is stolen from the book Julie and Julia, the memoir of Julie Powell. Ms Powell, also a government drone facing a transitional period in her life, decided that she would cook every recipe in Julia Child's masterpiece "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," and then she would write about it. In the process of completing this project, it transformed her life, and not all of the transformation was for the better. My thesis, after giving the matter not much thought at all, is that I could pick any aspect of my life, and if I pursue it for 30 minutes each day, and I write about it, then I too will transform my life. If nothing else, I'll become a better writer. Seems worth it.