A few years back, when I was actually thinking about retiring, I read where I should have various activities to ensure boredom doesn’t take over which would eventually sink me into the murky mud of mundaneness. With that challenge in mind, I decided that I would learn Spanish and French. I had taken a year of Spanish in high school and still knew a few words. I took the equivalent of two semesters of French in college and retained almost nothing. So, starting over learning these language was not new, so to speak, but I would be starting from the beginning. I had read where learning a language is good for brain health. If such an activity can ward off dementia then I’m all for it. I bought the diskettes for each language. And they sat on the shelf until I finally put them in one of my several garage sales. Staving off dementia by learning a new language will not be happening for me. My ultimate goal was to travel in countries where I could use the new languages that I would learn. It became apparent that I was not going to travel to said countries so why learn the languages if I was never going to use them. Anything I learned of these languages would quickly sink into to black file cabinet of lost learning deep in the catacombs of my brain.
I also read where learning to play a musical instrument was another way to ensure brain health and keeping dementia at bay. Learning to play the piano keyboard was my instrument of choice. I had taken piano lessons as a 7 year old so I wasn’t totally unfamiliar with the piano. Plus, I had done a lot of singing in high school and some in college. There was always a piano around to plink out a tune while I learned the sheet music. Plinking the keys was as advanced as I had gotten from my year as a piano student.
Prior to retiring, I bought a used 88-key keyboard online and as with the language tapes, it sat unused for a few years. Where ever I lived, I did set up the keyboard so it was there if ever I got inspired to learn to play. I bought books of music so I was “ready”. Finally, a couple of years ago, I screwed up my courage and signed up for keyboarding lessons. I asked my teacher, Chris, to treat me as a beginning student. I needed to start at the bottom of the learning curve. When I took lessons as a 7 year old, I was a master at hearing my piano teacher play the new pieces I was to practice that week. I was a master at hearing the piece once or twice and play it by ear immediately. I could not read the music or very little. Finally, the music got hard enough that I had to read what was written, and I couldn’t. I still can remember the fear I had walking into the teacher’s house for the lessons when I knew I had to “read” the music. I can still conjure up that heart clenching panic that meant “failure. The piano teacher told my grandmother, who was paying for the lessons, that it was useless to continue paying for lessons. I wasn’t learning to play, only learning to hear what was played and regurgitate it back. My piano lessons ended. I vaguely remember my grandmother being disgusted with me. No one knew at the time that I had a fair amount of dyslexia so reading sheet music was like looking at dancing dots on the page.
Once again, the keyboard sat lonely in the basement of the Hudson house. One day I took on the challenge and signed up for lessons with Chris, a Hudson piano teacher. I felt that same heart clenching fear as I walked into his piano lesson room that first day and a twinge of that same feeling every lesson thereafter with him. He was patient and took me to the point that could actually read what was to be played by my left and right hands, but just those two octaves on either side of middle C. I still felt challenged by the notes on the page. I worked hard to make sense of them. I still have a strong need to play these simple songs by ear. I can actually feel it taking over and then refocus on the notes on the page. It’s work.
The next octaves further out from middle C are where the mysteries begin. I had to end lessons before we got to those outer limits of the keyboard. That’s where the murkiness starts. I watch people on TV and little kids on FaceBook Reels play the entire 88 keys. Wow! Terrifying. I can actually feel my brain reaching, or trying to reach beyond the wall of fear that lurks on that mysterious edge.
The keyboard sat unused when we were in Lewistown for nearly 2 years. I only played it a couple of times. Today I set it up for the first time since we moved back to western Wisconsin. I played a few of the beginning songs and resisted playing them by ear. I’ll get familiar again with the music so I can once again play the simple songs without using my “ear” and without mistakes.
Then, I will find a piano teacher that can take me to the outer limits of my brain into that twilight zone of the out octaves. That’s where the mysteries lie. That’s where the magic happens.
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