One of the greatest gifts my mother ever gave me is a deep appreciation for music. Wafting from our home were the sounds of diverse musicians virtually 24/7. One day it would be the Beatles spinning on our record player. Another day it might be Trini Lopez or a Beethoven sonata. Sometimes it would be music from South America or Greece, and at other times it would be Cat Stevens, Harry Belafonte, Neil Diamond or Frank Sinatra.
About Cat Stevens (if I may digress)….somehow or other my mom got wind that Cat had died in 1976. We mourned him like a brother for two days! Then we were embarrassed to find out that he had not died at all. Although, in my view, he did die a “death of sorts” when he converted to Islam. His tortured soul, brilliant musical gift and unique voice would soon be replaced with social conformity and moralistic musical projects.
To continue with today’s blog.
Mom especially loved the piano. The poverty she experienced during the war didn’t allow her to pursue her passion, but shortly after she married and had kids, she set out to expose us to the instrument. First up was my brother who was “persuaded” to take piano lessons while we lived in Italy. I remember how proud my mother was to tell others of my brother’s ability and talent. A few years later, after our family had moved to Canada, my parents forced me to start piano lessons, too. My brother by then had quit his lessons and was focusing on playing acoustic guitar. I actually wanted to play the drums but it was to no avail.
For about 4 years, I dutifully went to Wentworth Music to take piano lessons. I resented it so much that, during the winter, I would walk to the studio without gloves on, and upon my arrival, I would waste 10 minutes out of a precious half hour to thaw out my fingers. Because I practiced “intermittently” during the week between lessons, I never had the lesson ready and surely frustrated my gracious teacher, Hedi Wentworth.
When the lesson was over, I would calmly put my gloves on and walk home.
My mom finally had the confidence to take piano lessons herself, at age 65. First, she took lessons from our neighbour, Joy Oxenham, and then studied with wonderful Lora Strom at Wentworth Music.
My mom never did get proficient at the piano, but for her it was enough to be involved and play the instrument somewhat. Today I play the drums and my brother plays guitar (and some piano), but an interesting thing happened shortly before my mother passed.
On her death bed, my mother asked me to promise her that, before selling the piano, I would have my son take at least two piano lessons. You know, just to see if he would like it……
I was not thrilled by this request because I had already made plans to be rid of it.
Well, wouldn’t you know it —my son started lessons with Lynda Nishi and took to the instrument like a duck to water! Eventually, Jordan not only liked the instrument, but became a valuable member of Sheila French’s Jazz program at KSS and now he plays piano professionally on the Coast.
And what happened to my mom’s piano? Well it’s still in our basement, waiting to be played whenever Jordan comes home to visit us.
Thank you for this gift, mom!