(the g-sharp)

I'm struggling against seasonal momentum to find words this week. Full days are being spent. Full, but happy. The garlands and holly berries are slowly finding their place in the house. Photos (of warm things) posted in odd places; tacked to the window, above the light switch, by the dish rack. Every free minute has been spent making or thinking or thinking about making. The holiday gift assembly line is underway. Bits of felt keep attaching themselves to my socks. I wish there was another way to say that I've been 'lost in thought,' but there isn't, so there it is. I'm taking things in. And a little mesmerized. Something about the dark nights and the way the light glows from from every window on the street. Music from our neighbors' apartment, instead of light; their blinds are always closed. They seem to like Bach.  And privacy, apparently.  I sat down at a piano on Thanksgiving night, for the first time in years. Three years, maybe four. And it was a struggle... plucking out notes and chords of songs I once had committed to memory. Creaky fingers and rusty as hell.

When I was small I played a lot of Chopin. It was either the Bach preludes or his, from start to finish, according to Ms. Hull--piano instructor of the old school. She had a 7 foot tall rendering of Beethoven's head, carved out of solid stone above her piano. There was no bargaining with the woman. Or the floating head would kill me. Obviously.  I liked using the pedals. So I chose Chopin.  To my 8 year old self, the final chords of Prelude No. 4 in E minor (the simple, funeral one) were full of melodrama. I would draw my face into a loooong oval and grimace like a Victorian grandma. I was an idiot.  It must have been downright impossible for the woman to teach anything to such a giggly kid. I was especially lax with the No. 15 in D-flat major, the 'Raindrop' prelude, rushed, with a leaded right hand. Lightly, she'd say again and again. Lightly, lightly. And she'd tell me to play the repeating G-sharp in the first movement like the soft tap tap of raindrops on my window. This, she asked, of a girl who was raised in a bone dry and barren desert. The sound of rain. She may as well have asked me to play the sound of Santa Claus. But tonight, sitting next to the wet windows in the living room, I know it would be different. The rain is tapping on the glass like a metronome. And I wish I had a damn piano.

Have a listen below.

All love,
*Andrea

All love,
*Andrea

Comments

[Sabine]

It's so strange, just yesterday I found myself wanting to give Chopin a try. I've been an adamant Rachmaninoff fan for years- his pieces are the best to play. In fact, Chopin was one of his favorites, too. Thanks for the post. Good luck with relearning the piano! Trust me, it's well worth it.

[shari]

your posts always cheer me andrea. such a beautiful piano piece.

"rain like a metronome"...sounds just perfect to me. xox

[mj]

Thanks for the Chopin! I love playing him too, but it's probably because I heard my mom playing it a lot growing up. Christmas time is great because it's the time of year that people ask you to play the piano for them and will sing along. I really like the berries on your mantle. (Thanks for the comment- the cross stitch was a pattern from Amy Karol's mailorder a few months back).

[sulu-design]

Eeek!!! I love your garland and wish I had seen it before I made my own. Shucks.
I wish you had a piano, too. The weather here is begging us to stay inside and enjoy things like piano playing. And how I'd love to see your melodramatic expression while playing Chopin.
Stay warm.