Mysterious Mind

Deus, in adjutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina.
O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me.

FRUSTRATION!  The computer has been soooo slow, or freezing up, or something, almost daily. I give up waiting for it to cooperate, and so have not added anything new for DAYS.  However, it seems to be chugging along right now, so -

   Several days ago I was channel surfing and happend to tune in EWTN (Eternal Word Television Network). A repeat of a "Mother Angelica Live" episode was running. It probably had been aired in the '90s, before Mother Angelica had her stroke. It was midway into the program. How the subject had arisen I don't know, but Mother Angelica was talking about her mother's tutoring her reading. She said that her mother would say, "Read this page." So, she read the whole page - no problem. Then her mother would point to a word. "Read this word." Mother Angelica would reply, "I can't." This was repeated over and over, her mother getting more annoyed, with the child able to read a whole page, but unable to read one word at a time. It was the way her mind worked. Eventually, she was able to read words by themselves. What an odd quirk of the mind!

   It set me to thinking about a quirk of my own mind that, to this day, I can't explain. My musical education began with piano lessons at age six. Well, actually, it began with ballet lessons at age five, from which my mother dragged me, swearing never to take me back. That was fine with me! Somehow I was promoted upstairs rather early on, to be taught by Leroy Prince, of later fame. My initial teacher was Marjorie Belcher, daughter of the studio's owner/director, and later to become Marge Champion, wife and dance partner of Gower Champion. Mr. Prince was in the middle of a class, abrupt and loud. He yelled at me to get in line. That scared little ol' me. I ran from the floor into the observers' area from which Mother and Grandmother watched. I cried and wailed and refused to go back. Really, I don't think I had the brain for dancing. Then too , I hated the forced extreme stretches that were supposed to limber up the body.  There we stood at the barre while some sadistic assistant grabbed a leg and tried to separate it from the body by aiming the toes at the ceiling. OUCH! Anyway, Mother gave Gramma the charge of trying piano lessons the next year, before she sailed for Honolulu with a part in some play or other.     But I digress.

   I took to piano lessons like the proverbial duck to water. At first I tried to get away with playing my lessons by ear, rather than learning the notes by repeated practice. The nun who was my first teacher quickly got me out of that habit. I learned later that my father, who had his own orchestra and played saxophone and clarinet, couldn't read a note. He even sat in and played clarinet during a San Francisco Symphony Orchestra rehearsal one time.  He really had an ear!             Again, I digress.

   From my second year of playing, I was expected to perform in recitals. While my initial lessons were at my elementary school, St. Cecilia's on Normandie Avenue in Los Angeles, the recitals were at St. Mary's Academy, a combination convent, plus boarding and day school for elementary through high school girls.

   Recitals were by grades, 2-3, 4-5, etc. By third grade my teacher said she had taught me as much as she could. Gramma would have to drive me to St. Mary's for my lessons with a more advanced teacher. I found out from a lifelong high school and college pal (and godmother of one of my children) that the other kids really resented me. I wasn't even "one of them," and usually played better and played near the end or at the end of the recitals. My then future friend had been an elementary day student and piano student during those times. I continued to study piano at the Academy through my own high school years there and earned a four year music scholarship to Mt. St. Mary's College in Brentwood.

   Now for my quirky brain. Technique and ability were not a problem Memorization was never a problem. I could memorize poetry, dates, geometry rules, logic and pages and pages of music. My Senior year private recital, which was a necessity to clinch the music scholarship, consisted of a Bach Italian Concerto first movement, a Chopin nocturn, an etude and a prelude and two more modern classics, plus the fifty-two pages of Mozart's Concerto in D Minor. The concerto was played on two pianos with my future college instructor at the second piano - talk about pressure!

   I had been memorizing music from first grade on. The quirk is that I could never retain a note in my head once the recitals were concluded. Oh, maybe for six months or so, while I learned new music; but then the previous pieces were as if erased. I could, with some practice to review the details read the music, but it never came back as a whole in my memory.

   Musicians told me that I played with the strength of a man and with feeling of Vladimir Horowitz. I had a stretch of one over an octave, which they deemed great, since I have such small hands. I should airm to be a concert pianist they said. How? That would never happen. Concert musicians must retain thousands of pages of music in their minds. Oh, yes, I know they need to review and practice, but the music is never entirely gone.

I thought though, that I could teach and intended to get a Master's Degree to that end. My college major was piano and voice. At its best my voice had three octaves. I could sing contralto or mezzo soprano with not much trouble. I could teach voice, probably, as well. The strange thing here is that I can go back and review songs, arias, whatever, and bring them quickly to mind. It's only the piano music that refuses to re-appear.

Today, with arthritis, tendonitis and stiff fingers, I can barely reach an octave, so chords are difficult. My skill in reading is just o.k. (my eyesight isn't the best) and my fingers refuse to "fly." I still enjoy singing, but the range is limited. When I start to quiver and quake or get hoarse and raspy, I'll quit. I don't intend to assault people's ears with the aged voice, pretending it still has that youthful lilt and strength.

I just wish I could remember all those piano classics that I once played.  It's disheartening to be able to read and play just a few pieces that don't require much skill, but such is my physical ability and the quirkiness of my mind.

5/26/12