The “Grand Sonata”, Op 7, has been a struggle. It looks easy on the page. But I’ve had difficulty connecting to it. Usually this has nothing to do with the piece of music and everything to do with my own distraction. There has been plenty of that. I often find myself practicing a passage while thinking about something else entirely. I remember one of my piano teachers as a child telling me no matter how well you know a piece it’s best not to be thinking about what you are having for dinner when playing it. I remember my music school idol, Meg, telling me when she teaches piano that when practicing, like cleaning a window, if there is dirt there and you just keep rubbing it around, you get nowhere. I remember spending hours upon hours in the basement practice rooms in music school until I couldn’t not do it. I remember studying for anatomy class with such intensity and focus that I quite literally knew where absolutely everything in our bodies was located. Studying anatomy and music is not all that different. You take the parts and dissect them then see how it all fits together.
I was thinking recently about whether, if it was measurable, I have now held my phone in my hand for more hours than I have held the hands of my children, husband, parents, dying patients. It’s hard to pay attention when the next thing is just a scroll away.
Still, I have had some great moments with Opus 7, the greatest of all being with the dogs and people who came to listen to it. For the last 10 years I have celebrated Beethoven’s birthday with “my patients”, with a performance of one of his sonatas. In the last 4 years this has included the violin-piano sonatas with my uber-talented violin pal, Jenny, graciously offering her time. This year we did sonata no 8 at one center on Tuesday, another big and somewhat uncharacteristically joyful piece by LVB. On Thursday I brought the grand opus 7 to another center (we have 3 centers, and I’m still scheming on getting a piano to the 3rd).
Which brings me to the dogs. Therapy dogs who like to hang out with people and offer their healing presence. I’m not sure about how the other people present felt, but this doctor was over the moon with the chance to share music with an amazing group of people and dogs on a sunny day near the winter solstice in celebration of one of the greatest composers of all time. Right before I started, someone asked if I could play boogie-wooogie on the 100 year old piano, donated to us by Fred and Joan Tempas. Right after I played, Kiya’s person asked if I wanted a hug, and as I reached to hug him he said “actually I meant the dog”, and so I kneeled and Kiya laid her head on my shoulder and really what else matters?
For the record, I am a midwestern, Lutheran, Buddhist, classically-trained perfectionist who worries non-stop. No one wants to hear me playing boogie-woogie.
I am putting grand opus 7 to rest for awhile. I need to come back to it with fresh eyes and fingers, and better attention. And anyway the opus 10s are calling. It takes practice to practice piano properly. Just because the world seems to be unraveling around us is no reason to allow the mind to wander when playing Beethoven, or when reading, or talking with a beloved. Attention is needed when laying stethoscope on chest, first right then left sternal borders, then apex, then axilla, asking oneself if the sound is soft, medium, loud, systolic, diastolic, whooshing or clicking, galloping or straightforward, boogie-woogie or Bach?
On Beethoven’s actual birthday (though debated, December 17 was his baptism day so probably he was born on December 16 based on traditions), my husband makes killer Mac and cheese. It was LVB’s favorite food. We revel in the rich, artery-threatening delight, imagining some Vienna eatery of the early 1800’s, and hoping at least sometimes Ludwig had a friend to share a meal with him.
Things are profoundly imperfect. Some days I can hardly breathe. I was chatting with a patient in a nursing home recently, someone who is an ambassador to other residents there, hearing their concerns and advocating for them. As I stood at the end of their bed, with my awkward privilege of being able to walk out of there on healthy legs, they expressed their bewilderment at what has become of this country which is becoming unrecognizable. After several beats of silence, except for someone’s TV blaring in the background, I said I just keep trying to show up each day for the person in front of me, with kindness and in service. Which is what the person, stuck in that bed does every day. As does the canine masters of healing, the true experts of quiet comfort, given with a doggy smiles and cold, boopable noses, the Kiya’s of the world.
In the imperfection of beginners mind we practice. As the Zen master would say, fall down 8 times, get up 9. Then go to your piano bench and practice opus 10.
