How wonderful is this chilly weather? Pretty wonderful considering the 103 temp on average that we had for summer. Fall reminds me of all kinds of great times: college, glad I was there, wishing I wasn’t there, Dannette, Jackie, and Anette. My dorm mates and gossip companions. Since I was at a strict go by the rules or else college it was mostly us against them. Well, sort of, the extent of our rebellion was mostly verbal if you don’t count toilet papering the hallways during final exams.  I was the music major, and practicing in that tiny cell of a practice room became an act of mental magic. claustrophobia would set in while the music would seep down from my soul into my fingers, and fill the room with mistakes that I needed to fix so I would concentrate as hard as I could then breathe a sigh of relief when it was over. It was even more difficult because I did not have a classical style and that is what was required there. My piano teacher, God bless her, tried to straighten me out. She could have had a fly swatter and slapped my fingers because that would have had the same effect as what her eyes were telling me. Unluckily for me, I was sent to a small German bleach blonde seventy year old female music teacher  who had no tolerance for mistakes. A fly swatter was inconsequential to her. She liked to slap your hands; yes she liked violence. Lucky for me, I only had to go to her once.  “Cut your nails, play on the tips of your fingers, arch your hands,” she would say,  and I am so glad my tender little music loving heart could not hear what she was thinking. But one day I did hear what someone was thinking. During the second semester, I had so had my fill of that place and wanted out. Secular newspapers were not even allowed on campus for goodness sake. It was time to practice so I found a bigger room and for some reason I just played like I wanted. There was a particular gospel song that I had played most of my life, but this time I kind of put the Jerry Lee Lewis stamp on it. I was having the time of my life!! Sometimes the timing, the riffs, the expression that is all yours just puts you into a world all of your own. Unfortunately, my very strict college had ears. In the middle of my rebellious -music- happiness, someone opened the door. A very angry twenty-five or so  skinny male with thin straight black hair and the tiniest razor of a black mustache that sat pompously over his twitching mouth said, “WE, don’t play like that here.”  I was horrified. Yes, my sweet little heart vowed to never play like that again, but it only lasted for thirty seconds. I finished my song, and was sure that my parents’ love affair for this place would be over soon because I would make sure of it.

Not long ago, the local piano store, yes they still exist, made the front page of the paper. The owner had met Jerry Lee Lewis and had on display a piano that he had used for a concert. He said he didn’t mind if anyone wanted to tiptoe across  the ivories. In this case, it probably is real ivory due to age. Maybe I’ll sit down on that bench and channel Jerry Lee like I did years ago. Well, of course we don’t sound alike. Jerry Lee would get out the giant fly swatter and teach me a thing or two. But the music is still in me!     

Image via Wikipedia