Playing the piano can provide joy, comfort, and solace. 

My sister-in-law once told me, “The piano is a friend at your fingertips.”

I have three binders of music. Classical, pop/jazz, and gospel.

Hymnals are also a big part of my repertoire.

I’m a mediocre player but that doesn’t deter me from trying complicated pieces.

Amidst challenging octaves, Chopin’s fingering techniques include rapid leap-frog moves and awkward finger switches. 

When I’m about to abandon Chopin, he suddenly shows a delightful side—Prelude in C-Minor—the inspiration for Barry Manilow’s, Could it be Magic.

I was five when I had my first lesson. Practicing was fun. I had various teachers but was an eager student under Mrs. Tierney’s tutelage. For the Spring concert in seventh grade she taught me Mozart’s variations of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. (Not as easy as the title suggests.) My fingers were busy enough to require a page turner. 

The other day, I tried to play that same piece.

I envied my teenage self. 

I studied piano with Mrs. Tierney until I was sixteen, when I foolishly decided to give up lessons and regular practice. Fortunately, as my pianist role for the junior choir at church allowed me to continue to develop as an accompanist.

Things labeled “easy compositions” baffle me.

One day I attempted to play an easy Minuet by Mozart. The trills and turns tripped me up.

Mozart composed the piece when he was eight-years-old.

There are many songs I would like to perfect—Beethoven’s Seven Bagatelles, Passacaglia by Handel, and Etude by Dmitri Kabalevsky. After the hundredth sour note I admit defeat. But days later, I return to the welcoming keys. The friend at my fingertips provides enjoyment without judgement.

While listening to flawless performances by professionals like Alexandre Kantrorow my “friend” reminds me that despite the limits of my skill, my enjoyment has no limits.

Retired, I have time to fine-tune my ability to play a perfect pianissimo or mezzo forte.

That said, I am not a pianissimo girl. I prefer heavy metal to light rock. You don’t have to tell me twice to play fortissimo. 

The sustain pedal is my friend but I overuse it. I imagine it holds onto notes when my fingers are tired, or even better, mask mistakes. It doesn’t.

When it was impossible to find a piano tuner in my area, (dying breed) I took a course and learned to tune. By the way, unlike a violin or guitar, the strings on a piano are thick, long, and frightening when they snap. 

I finished the course as I pridefully followed in my grandfather’s footsteps.

Turns out I love playing more than tuning. Luckily, I found a young man named Chris, who skillfully tuned my neglected instrument.

This is a memorable read.

Recently, we were blessed to host two children from the African Children’s Choir. They plunked on the piano with gusto and delight. They didn’t need lessons or cared if the piano was perfectly tuned. They just enjoyed. 

“To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable.” — Ludwig van Beethoven