88 keys to happiness

**Warning! If you're feeling grumpy or cynical you'll probably want to skip this mushy, sentimental post!**

My mom is a piano teacher. She taught the neighborhood kids for thirty years. I had just one piano lesson—from her—when I was a child. One lesson, and then I shook my head and said, “No thanks, Mom!” I don’t remember why I said that, but I’m so glad I did. I learned to play the piano anyway, after my own fashion. I can play lots of those sonatinas by Kuhlau and Clementi, and most of the pieces in Bach’s Anna Magdalena Notebook. And because I never studied “formally,” I don’t stress out about proper fingerings and keeping ’em nicely curved, and so forth. All I do is enjoy it to my heart’s content.

My mom and I play duets together. This is one of the great joys of my life. If you’ve never played music in an ensemble, well, you have my deepest pity. There is nothing like it. Nothing like being a part of something greater than yourself, at one with the group, creating beauty. I played the clarinet for many years—including lots of lessons, this time—in quite a variety of bands, orchestras, and chamber music groups. There is nothing like it. I miss it. Playing duets fills a void in my soul.

Playing duets with my mom does something else for me, too. Whatever ups and downs she and I have had, and I admit there have been maybe one or two, they are out the door when we're playing together. And we have that mother-child ESP thing going, too. Our ensemble is uncannily, effortlessly perfect. Sometimes, as we finish the last chord of the piece together, perfectly together, we look at each other in amazement. True, I do have all that other ensemble-playing experience. True, my mom accompanies lots of soloists and has played in chamber groups, too. However, we prefer to believe it’s the mother-child bond that let’s us play together perfectly.

My son just had his second lesson with Grandma. I am so glad.