My fingers have difficulty playing my own old recital piece from boarding school. Still, I can belt out the showtunes. My music continued there and kept me in touch with the outside world. I accompanied my schoolmates around the piano -- cranking out hymns on the small chapel organ.
At college in Boston, where my love with New England flourished, I found a common bond between north and south in the glee club with portrayals of W.S. Gilbert & Arthur Sullivan's "I'm Called Little Buttercup" from Pinafore and "The Duchess" from Gondoliers.
Concerts added dimension. South Pacific's "Some Enchanted Evening" became the theme of courtship my future husband and I shared. His medical degree and surgical training, my teaching experience culminated in a life of "forte-piano" service and dedication.
The living room comes alive sometimes; I remember the artists with their voices, their instruments, the audiences anticipating a gloriously festive evening with entertainment and food. Saint Patrick's Day filled the house with Irish tunes. Christmas caroling has become a custom with ordinary people as stars.
My piano is replete with days gone by.
I extract church music from the archives, and I hume the solos I sang from the balcony of the historic church. No one asks me to sing anymore. It's just as well.
Scattered among the yellowing pages in my colletion is music from friends, lonely teachers, classmates, children and unsuccessful violinists, guitar hopefuls and the deceased. A musical orphanage, indeed.
As the hammers touch tenderly on the strings, I try not to let my heart feel too much. Yet, I don't want to lose her. It happened so suddenly -- at a time when James Taylor was singing "You've Got a Friend."
Tears come unexpectedly. When the news came of our eldest daughter's death, while jogging, time ceased. Preceding her funeral, I sought comfort in my piano, my friend. I played soothing hymns. Music keeps her alive in our hearts.
Our second daughter has made vibrant music with piano, organ and harpsichord. One of her four boys is a blossoming singer. The others with beautiful voices are scaling hurdles of sports and technology.
Our third daugther transferred her musical exposure to the rhythm of tennis.
The piano seems animated when our son's two young daughters visit. They sit under the piano, as I once did. They build a crescendo on the keys with their enthusiasm. When they return home, miles away, they will be immersed in Mandarin lessons or other activities, and the piano will be forgotten.
What will become of my precious possession -- my ally -- an integral part of family life? It is a witness to a rich musical heritage. Will it find a caring home? Or will it be abandoned, like old melodies on the used pages in the boxes?
Maybe, by some miracle, a grandchild will nurture that piano, pass it on to one of their children.
In the few years I have left, I give thanks for the joy in this beautiful instrument. Eternal values are in the spiritual realm, where true harmony exists, and my soul will always hear the notes of the Master.
Continued in 2015, ELK
