Play me a memory.
I've been playing the piano since I was probably around 6 years old. I took lessons from a woman named Mrs. Waggoner who lived down the street from us. I quit lessons as soon as my mom would let me, which I think was probably sometime around 6th grade. But I never quit playing. I simply taught myself the songs I wanted to play.
This piano is actually my mother's. I used to tell her that I wanted to take it and put it in my own house since I play it more than she does, but her response for as long as I can remember has always been "everything will be yours one day." Talk about morbid.
Now I play whenever I visit my parents' house. I'm fantastic at the songs I know (though since it's been years since I've had solid time to practice, some of my favorites are a little rusty), and I can teach myself any song I want if given enough time. But I'm nowhere near as good as Andy. He used to play piano in competitions. Whenever his folks went out of town during college, he'd have everyone over for a party and sometime around 2 or 3am, when he was good and drunk, he'd sit down and start blazing away at the piano. That's back before we were dating, when we were just friends. And I still remember watching him in awe as his hands raced across the keys, playing beautiful, complicated music at the wee hours of the morning. I think I may have been falling in love with him at the time without even realizing it.
365 Days (self portraits): Day 110
Play me a memory.
I've been playing the piano since I was probably around 6 years old. I took lessons from a woman named Mrs. Waggoner who lived down the street from us. I quit lessons as soon as my mom would let me, which I think was probably sometime around 6th grade. But I never quit playing. I simply taught myself the songs I wanted to play.
This piano is actually my mother's. I used to tell her that I wanted to take it and put it in my own house since I play it more than she does, but her response for as long as I can remember has always been "everything will be yours one day." Talk about morbid.
Now I play whenever I visit my parents' house. I'm fantastic at the songs I know (though since it's been years since I've had solid time to practice, some of my favorites are a little rusty), and I can teach myself any song I want if given enough time. But I'm nowhere near as good as Andy. He used to play piano in competitions. Whenever his folks went out of town during college, he'd have everyone over for a party and sometime around 2 or 3am, when he was good and drunk, he'd sit down and start blazing away at the piano. That's back before we were dating, when we were just friends. And I still remember watching him in awe as his hands raced across the keys, playing beautiful, complicated music at the wee hours of the morning. I think I may have been falling in love with him at the time without even realizing it.
365 Days (self portraits): Day 110