My Piano Teachers...

My first piano teacher's name was Sister Hill. I was 8. She was old and mean. (She was probably in her 40s?) I can still hear her pencil scribble the instructions on my notepad, always with underlines and stars next to "PRACTICE YOUR SCALES." I hate the sound of pencil on paper (unless you're drawing). It sounds different than ink. And I hate that sound.

I quit.

I hated scales and theory.

But I LOVE the piano.

My second piano teacher's name was Sister Swain. She lived in a round house in the woods with a little creek. I would distract her and get her to tell me stories about her family or her house. I adored her. She adored me. I turned 15.

I quit.

My third piano teacher's name was Bev. We talked through the entire lesson, until her husband would come in and tell us to get to work. He was serious. We weren't. I was 30. I played in a piano recital with a bunch of little kids. I curtsied when I introduced myself and went blank on my memorized music when I sat down to the piano.

I quit.

I don't remember why?

My fourth piano teacher's name was Sue. She has a PhD in music. She has a Steinway grand piano. Those keys felt like velvet and sounded like gold. She made me start very, very basic. She told me how to hold my hands, how to sit and why. Always WHY. She's good. I even would sit at the computer and practice theory. It was hard. But I got it. I really got it. And I liked it a lot. I play the piano differently now.

BUT. I quit.

I'm getting a PhD instead.

And you know what? I'm having to learn a lot of theory. It's hard. Sometimes I feel dumb. I chew my fingernails and cuticles. They look like I am a very focused pianist. Some how I think they're meant to remind me NOT to quit.

Isn't theory what makes a musician really truly talented? Especially if they want to compose?

Did I mention I play by ear?