Her name was Myrtle Johnson.
As kids, we used to think her first name was pretty funny.
(You can get "Myrtle" to become some weird sounding words just by substituting the first
consonant with a different one. Try it.)
She didn't look like this, but she played
scary music at our church.
By scary, I mean LOUD classical postlude* organ music
as we filed out of church each Sunday morning.
To her credit, she was a classically trained pianist
and organist. A lot of her career was spent in
Chicago playing and teaching.
She was accustomed to playing on large organs
in large churches in front of large sophisticated audiences.
Not so, in our small Midwestern town and our even
smaller place of worship.
And so, Sunday mornings, after containing her passion
as she accompanied our small choir, or inept amateur
soloists, she'd had enough.
The end of the service came, people began to quietly file out, and
BAM! Myrtle would begin to play
the right way.
I don't think there was anyone there who appreciated having
our stained glass windows rattled by some Bach number.
But to us youngin's, it was downright frightening.
We clung to our Mothers' good Sunday dresses as we
leaned on them to hurry out the door.
Because our church was small, Myrtle Johnson was also
a friend of my mom's.
Myrtle and her sister, Marie lived in a modest house
a block and a half from ours.
Myrtle gave piano lessons.
My mother was thrilled when her sister, my Aunt Gladys,
offered to spring for my very first piano lessons.
I don't remember feeling either way about it,
but once a week my chubby little five-year-old legs
would carry me to their house.
but once a week my chubby little five-year-old legs
would carry me to their house.
Sitting at Miss Johnson's upright piano,
I would play through my lesson for the week.
She would listen,
.jpg)
I would play through my lesson for the week.
She would listen,
.jpg)
and then scribble large effusive notes and instructions in
my piano book.
I guess My Bonnie is still over the ocean.
And you will have to tune in next time
to see where all this has its spectacular ending.
Au Revoir,
Mary
my piano book.
I guess My Bonnie is still over the ocean.
And you will have to tune in next time
to see where all this has its spectacular ending.
Au Revoir,
Mary
All images via Pinterest
*post·lude
/ˈpōstˌlo͞od/
Noun
|
When Suzanne was about ten off to Schmitt Music for our new piano. Loved music in our house but the best ever is when Mary would play. Maybe less than five times but I'm here to tell you she had me!!!!!!! So what ever she has on the next blog come to me for the truth. I loved her piano playing. Now here's the joke. As an Elementary school teacher I had to take piano in college. I got a B and if there was ever a gift and undeserved mark I will stand tall as the farce of all grades ever given.
ReplyDeleteDear Ernie Timmers, (aka my Boyfriend)
DeleteI think you got the B in piano in college because of your stellar qualities, and you know what they are! Thanks for the thoughtful comment.
Love,
Mary
Loving the new pics on the side of your blog and love what is to come. B just said our kids should take lessons and I said, "you realize we need to have a piano at home to practice"...wanna find a cheap piano for us? Tatum would love it!
ReplyDeletei recognize the piano book, i took for 7 years, fighting all the while and i remember that book.
ReplyDeletemy favorite thing here is the first picture! DRAMATIC. sucked me right in, you have that touch you know.
AND then i liked playing with "myrtle"
you're right.
your writing is getting freer and looser and i'm diggin' it miss mary.
but you couldn't possibly be contrary. not you. right?
love
suzee B