Episode 5: The Delight of Music
Music - Mozart Sonata, K.331, Bach Minuet in G, Original Compositions by Jessica Roemischer
With appreciation to my teacher, Marilyn Sophos, who nurtured my love of music.
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With appreciation to my teacher, Marilyn Sophos, who nurtured my love of music.
Subscribe on Apple Podcasts & Stitcher
I began to play the piano when I was a young girl. In contemplating why I love to play the piano and always have, what I’ve realized, is that the seeds of our destinies are often there, sown at the very beginning.
But, as I think back, I recall that things didn't get off to a great start...
For two years, beginning when I was six, I studied piano with Mrs. Elmore. She lived in our town and taught lots of young students. I remember the music book she gave me. “The property of Mrs. Edna Elmore,” was stamped boldly inside its cover. I practiced at home and learned how to play little pieces like, “Dance of the Gnomes” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
Mrs. Elmore’s living room had a dark green carpet and floor-to-ceiling drapes that blocked the light. Her antique grand piano was positioned against one wall. In the spring, she hosted a student recital. Folding chairs were set up around the room. Every chair had a little card table next to it. That way we could each enjoy the lemonade and shortbread cookies she’d provide.
Mrs. Elmore’s recitals were curious events. Rather than simply having us perform our pieces, she held a puppet show, too. Near the piano, a small stage with a red velvet curtain was elevated on a wooden stand. After a student performed, the curtain opened and puppets appeared, bobbing their heads energetically and uttering comments. Perhaps it was to amuse us or to remark on the music? I can’t quite remember.
What I do recall was a particular moment. As I sat watching the puppet show, for some reason, I got a strange feeling. It was odd. I sensed that the card table next to me was going to collapse.
Several minutes passed. Mrs. Elmore’s living room was stuffy and I felt thirsty. I leaned over to take my glass of lemonade. Suddenly, the table buckled. But I hadn’t intended it. Yellow lemonade and crumbling cookies spilled over Mrs. Elmore’s green carpet. The table lay in a heap at my feet.
All the parents and students turned look at me, startled. The recital stopped. I didn’t know what to do. I said without thinking, “I knew that was going to happen.” “Well, then,” Mrs. Elmore reprimanded, “Why did you let it?” Embarrassed and confused, I didn’t know the answer to her question. I was just eight years old.
That was the last memory I have of Mrs. Elmore.
But, as I think back, I recall that things didn't get off to a great start...
For two years, beginning when I was six, I studied piano with Mrs. Elmore. She lived in our town and taught lots of young students. I remember the music book she gave me. “The property of Mrs. Edna Elmore,” was stamped boldly inside its cover. I practiced at home and learned how to play little pieces like, “Dance of the Gnomes” and “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”
Mrs. Elmore’s living room had a dark green carpet and floor-to-ceiling drapes that blocked the light. Her antique grand piano was positioned against one wall. In the spring, she hosted a student recital. Folding chairs were set up around the room. Every chair had a little card table next to it. That way we could each enjoy the lemonade and shortbread cookies she’d provide.
Mrs. Elmore’s recitals were curious events. Rather than simply having us perform our pieces, she held a puppet show, too. Near the piano, a small stage with a red velvet curtain was elevated on a wooden stand. After a student performed, the curtain opened and puppets appeared, bobbing their heads energetically and uttering comments. Perhaps it was to amuse us or to remark on the music? I can’t quite remember.
What I do recall was a particular moment. As I sat watching the puppet show, for some reason, I got a strange feeling. It was odd. I sensed that the card table next to me was going to collapse.
Several minutes passed. Mrs. Elmore’s living room was stuffy and I felt thirsty. I leaned over to take my glass of lemonade. Suddenly, the table buckled. But I hadn’t intended it. Yellow lemonade and crumbling cookies spilled over Mrs. Elmore’s green carpet. The table lay in a heap at my feet.
All the parents and students turned look at me, startled. The recital stopped. I didn’t know what to do. I said without thinking, “I knew that was going to happen.” “Well, then,” Mrs. Elmore reprimanded, “Why did you let it?” Embarrassed and confused, I didn’t know the answer to her question. I was just eight years old.
That was the last memory I have of Mrs. Elmore.
The next fall, I began to study with a new teacher. My new teacher was very different from Mrs. Elmore. When I arrived at my teacher's house for the first time, I admired a giant Sycamore tree in the front yard. With its mottled bark and towering branches, it was like a sentinel that welcomed me. As I stepped to the front door, her black Labrador greeted me with his wagging tail and friendly licks.
There were no puppet shows and no reprimands!
My new teacher had two Steinway grand pianos placed side-by-side in her living room. She’d sit at one, and I at the other. She gave me lovely pieces to play. In my young handwriting, I wrote my name on the front covers of my new music books. Then she’d play the various melodies, so I could hear the sounds of each. I’d choose the pieces I loved best. I was never made to study something I didn’t like. Bach’s easy minuets were among my favorites.
There were no puppet shows and no reprimands!
My new teacher had two Steinway grand pianos placed side-by-side in her living room. She’d sit at one, and I at the other. She gave me lovely pieces to play. In my young handwriting, I wrote my name on the front covers of my new music books. Then she’d play the various melodies, so I could hear the sounds of each. I’d choose the pieces I loved best. I was never made to study something I didn’t like. Bach’s easy minuets were among my favorites.
While I loved classical music, I was a child of the ‘60’s (and ’70’s). That era, rich with invention and variety, marked my musical coming of age. One morning, I was sitting on the front lawn. It was trash collection day. As the garbage truck approached, I heard a song that captivated me with its first chords.
The tune was coming from a small transistor radio hanging on the garbage's man's belt. Listening with avid interest, I followed that man all the way up the street as he emptied the bins. I couldn’t let go of the music. Once the song was finished, I rushed back to the house and to the piano. My ear tried to find the melody on the keyboard, my fingers searching through trial and error. The song, I later discovered, was James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.”
The tune was coming from a small transistor radio hanging on the garbage's man's belt. Listening with avid interest, I followed that man all the way up the street as he emptied the bins. I couldn’t let go of the music. Once the song was finished, I rushed back to the house and to the piano. My ear tried to find the melody on the keyboard, my fingers searching through trial and error. The song, I later discovered, was James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.”
Learning popular songs led me to experiment, to improvise. My favorite time was in the evening. Our living room faced west. The soft light of the setting sun filtered through the maple tree. In warm weather, I opened the leaded-glass windows. The cool evening breeze drifted in. I was alone with the piano and the sound.
At those times, my fingers moved over the keys with greater abandon. When certain harmonies arose, I’d savor them, entranced. After several minutes, a wonderful thing began to happen. Though I was often sad, my mood changed. I became peaceful and happy. As I played the music I loved, a veil dropped away, revealing a dimension where everything was okay.
At those times, my fingers moved over the keys with greater abandon. When certain harmonies arose, I’d savor them, entranced. After several minutes, a wonderful thing began to happen. Though I was often sad, my mood changed. I became peaceful and happy. As I played the music I loved, a veil dropped away, revealing a dimension where everything was okay.
As I played, I felt peaceful and happy...