“Here We Go, Up A Row” - theHumm February 2019

By Glenda Jones

When I was six I took piano lessons from a stern no-nonsense teacher. She wore her hair in a bun, and sat in a straight-back chair next to the piano in reach of my little hands that quivered over the keys. I willed them to hit the right notes: CDE, CDE, DCDE, CC. “Here we go, up a row, to a birthday party”. She was indeed “Teaching Little Fingers to Play”, which was the compendium we used, but I was scared to death of her and her ruler. “NO” became an operative word, no matter how I concentrated on making her happy.

I learned scales, chords, and these little pieces, the lyrics of which stick in my head to this day. But it was hard. It was hard to practice; it was hard to make two hands play different things at the same time. My mother gritted her teeth and sat with me as I tortured out simple songs, telling me I was improving. She probably crossed her fingers as she said that.

When my sister took up the piano a few years later, she was a natural — confident, clever, and, I might add, someone who could stand up to the teacher if she had to make a point. She went on to play in recitals (something I never mastered), and festivals (the very bane of my existence). In later years, she took up the guitar, the flute, and the organ.

I left my piano days behind, but the memory of music literacy stuck in my head, a blessing when I joined choirs. The ability to read music is like riding a bike, I guess.

A while back, I toyed with the idea of taking up the piano again, not that we even have one. However, a serendipitous conversation led to the loan of a keyboard, just the right size, and a pile of easy piano lessons. The first page I opened looked simple enough: two hands, no chords, the basic key of C. What a joke! Not only would my fingers not play the proper notes, but also I couldn’t make my two hands work together properly. I couldn’t even read the two lines at the same time. I was back on that piano stool, feeling like a six-year old again.

I had to return to the beginning, one hand at a time, five-finger exercises, over and over. For a couple of days, all I did were scales, up and down, white keys, black keys, left hand, right hand, and then wonder of wonders: both hands together! I didn’t allow myself to make a mistake, but instead repeated the exercises until I’m sure Alan figured that would be my entire repertoire forever. I didn’t scream when I got it wrong, I didn’t start crying when I’d been sitting there twenty minutes, I didn’t slam the book shut and yell it was all stupid! (Am I a grown up now?)

I have dutifully practiced every day for at least thirty minutes, reminding myself a few times that you don’t learn to play the piano by watching Wheel of Fortune. I can now play the simple pieces, and am moving into Book Two where I’ll have to play two-hands, different rhythms, and chords. It’s going to be a big challenge, but I’m ready.

I’m even working on some theory lessons to discover why some notes sound better than others, how to find the right chords to accompany a tune, how to work out the formula for a scale. I must have lost my theory book when I was six because this has been a big mystery to me up to now. For the first time, I’ve solved the quandary of dominant fifths and sevenths, a real eye-opener that won’t ever come up on Jeopardy, I’m sure. And here’s something to think about: if you look at a lot of the Afro-American spirituals, you will find they can be played entirely on the black keys. That’s piano theory at work there.

This “old dog, new tricks’ thing is pretty satisfying, especially when I don’t have to answer to anyone. It’s also teaching me patience, something I could really use. Learning anything new takes time, and it doesn’t matter if the first attempts are less than perfect, as long as every attempt moves me a little farther to the right side of the equation. Hope springs eternal that the day will come when all the stars will align and all the attempts will pay off into something half-decent. My agility shirt says: “Sometimes we learn, sometimes we win, and when we learn to win, we’re going to rock!” It may happen, or it may not, but I’m having a good time trying.

Now I want to buy my own keyboard, not a fancy thing with a hundred tunes, drum beats, and all that — I’m not starting a rock band or anything — just something that sounds piano-ish and is in tune, and maybe with a few more than 61 keys, and I’d like Middle C to actually be in the middle. If I were to go that far, it would mean a real commitment, and I’ll work myself up to the Mozart Sonatina my sister used to belt out at a furious speed just to unnerve Mrs. Tweedale, may she rest in peace for putting up with this ninny of a six-year-old pupil.

And the Award Goes to… Don Wiles! - theHumm February 2019

By Sally Hansen

Art… and Soul

theHumm is celebrating this awards season by commending Almonte’s beloved and esteemed Don Wiles for his interest in his community and the contributions he continues to make that enrich its cultural and intellectual life.

Journalists should never miss a chance to invite a nonagenarian to share their most treasured piece of advice. Soon to be 94, Dr. Wiles was momentarily surprised at my invitation, and then counseled, “Be interested.” He is a persuasive example of the wis......

“Here We Go, Up A Row” - theHumm February 2019