Practice Makes

I have it in my head that Lily ought to be--needs to be--having piano lessons, the fact that we are not currently in possession of a piano notwithstanding, and I keep having flashbacks to my own piano lessons, which began I was about Lily's age and continued on into my teenage years.

It is such a cliche that parents have to browbeat their kids into practicing their musical instruments, and while I may not have consistently practiced as much as I was supposed to, I actually loved playing the piano, practice and all. Sometimes when I am at my parents' house now, and nobody is paying attention, I will go into the living room and close the door and play scales, or even songs from some of the old sheet music in the piano bench. It's not quite like riding a bike, but my fingers still know pretty much what to do. With a little bit of practice...

The truth is, although I really do want Lily to have piano lessons, and suspect she would really like playing the piano, I actually want to play again, too. Although for the most part I am drawn to large scale, amorphous plans and dreams, most of the time I like to have one concrete sure thing going as a counterpoint, something with fleeting yet eminently satisfying results.

Now I suppose it's true that this blog is a sort of practicing: practicing writing. But not really, not in the way I mean. Exercising is not practicing; it is keeping muscles limber, building strength. It is what it is: there is no finished exercise. The blog is more like this: I am keeping my muscles limber, building strength, perhaps, sometimes with the goal of a finished piece, but I had no expectation of starting small and ending up big, setting forth a few faltering lines, ending up with the great American novel. More like exercise, I think. Maintenance.

And although it is true that like no essay or story is ever finished until the writer says so, on her own terms, and can always go back and, well, unfinish it whenever she wants to, a piece of music is never conquered either, not really. There is no universal standard of mastery. But when you learn a new piece, you start with symbols on a page. That's all: there is no music, yet. And once you understand the symbols, can read them, you start, slowly at first, then more competently, then more confidently, until at last, after real practice, you can play a song. Your version of a song, yes. But a song, from start to finish.

Maybe I am talking about writing, too, although I didn't think so when I started. But I would still like to play the piano again. I would still like to learn a new song. Songs.