Black and white and noise all over!

Black and white and noise all over!

Our piano was a staple of life.  It was as necessary as a sofa or a dining room table.  Every one of us young'uns took piano lessons.  I well remember my piano lessons but I don't remember much about the others taking lessons.  (I'm on the horse.)

Mother had told me the story of how I had colic as a baby.  She said that she would lay me down, crying, under the piano.  As long as she practiced the piano, I'd sleep and not cry, hours at a time.  She was always so disappointed that even with all that practice, she couldn't play the piano at all.  I don't remember ever hearing her play a song on the piano although I'm sure my brothers and sisters have clear memories of her at the piano.

The year before Daddy died, I heard a hymn being played on the piano in his house and wondered who had come in and started playing.  I thought I was the only one there besides Daddy and I knew he didn't play the piano.  

I walked around the corner to see Daddy playing the piano.  I had never noticed this photo from their album, a photograph of Daddy playing the piano.  OK, so even Daddy played the piano!  That was the biggest piano surprise of my life.

Jean was 10 years older than me.  When I was a child, I'd go to sleep listening to her play the piano.  Two of the songs she played often were 'Beautiful Dreamer' and 'Red River Valley'.  To this day, those songs make me think of her.  She was 15 in this photo.

My first memories of 'playing' the piano begin with me listening to Jean play.  When she was finished, I would climb up on the stool and 'play' loudly with both hands, all the way up and down the keyboard, like Jean did.  I would call out, telling Mother to listen, that I could play as beautiful as Jean could.  Now, I wince at the memory.  What a lot of loud racket it had to be.  My feet didn't touch the 'loud' petal, luckily for Mother.  Or maybe it was luckily for me.

My first memories of playing the piano, REALLY playing it, was in elementary school.  There was a piano teacher at school.  Those of us taking piano lessons (our parents had to pay) were released from class to go another building to take lessons once a week.  On rare occasions, the piano would be wheeled from classroom to classroom, for us to play for the class.  I'm not sure if maybe this was our 'piano recital' or why it was rolled around.  I was so excited to do something special in class.  I think that I was the only one in my class to take lessons so I was honored to be the ONLY one to play it in our class as far as I remember.  Everyone at home played the piano better than I did.  It was a treat to be able to play and for once, I was able to contribute something that others couldn't.  I felt special.  (I don't remember it making me proud but then, if it did, would I have realized it?)

Later, when I was a older, I took piano lessons in Ocala from Mrs. Sullivan and then Mrs. Bats (who married and became Mrs. Olinger.)  After lessons were over, I was always ready to begin lessons again and after just a few weeks, ready to stop again.  Practicing was the problem.  I did not like to practice.  Mother was wise enough to make me keep taking lessons and not allow me to stop/start/stop/start continually. Our children were just like I was, wanted to take lessons but didn't want to practice.  As if I'd learn without practicing ...

Dusting the piano was a weekly chore.  We cleaned and dusted the house every Saturday.  The piano keys had to be scrubbed every so often.  As I look at some of the piano photos Mother had, I realize how many fingers were touching the keys.  No wonder they had to be cleaned!

I think George and Jean played the piano the most in their lives after they left home, more than the rest of us did.  Mother and Daddy had cassette tapes of George playing the piano and would play them in the car, over and over, for hours.  It brought them so much pleasure to hear him playing.  They were so excited when Jean bought a new piano for her house in NC.  To us, she always played beautifully.  Some pieces of music, played on the piano, takes me right back to being a little girl in bed at night, listening to Jean play until I fell asleep.

I don't remember the high back piano in the pictures above.  The photos below are of the 'new' piano.  This is the one that fills my memories.  In the first photo, Mother is playing the piano.   

Here, George, Jimmy, and Jean play together.  I don't remember them playing guitars at all.  When I was in my teens, this scene was repeated with other teenagers, including Stephen playing his guitar when we were dating.  But that is another story.

God, family, food, and work were more important than the piano, but I think the piano was next in line.  

To this day I can't play the piano.  I can pick out tunes but that is all.  Stephen could always play the piano better than I could. When we had a piano in our home (Stephen and I) I learned how to quickly stop someone from asking me to play.  I would tell them the first time that they asked, "I can't play".  With a small grand piano in our living room, they'd not believe me.  I'd play the piano when they asked the second time.  They'd believe me and not ask me again.  Ever. Seriously!