Monday, April 24, 2006
Where There's a Will....
We called it the “white table”, the one that held the water bucket and wash pan in a corner of the kitchen. The top was white baked-on enamel, the color of piano keys, which we drew on and practiced just as though they could make real music. Sister had learned which keys were which from a friend who had a piano and took lessons. Mama had taught us the notes in the Broadman Hymnal, the only music that was available. We practiced and we dreamed of someday owning a piano.
In 1948, the cotton patches seemed solid with white fluff, a bumper crop like we had never seen. This was the first year we lived on Cousin Boots Gunn’s place, our first house with electricity. Daddy bought a small freezer for our home-grown beef, a washing machine, and butane stoves. But best of all was the old piano for which he paid the handsome sum of $50. Now we could really make some music!
At first we only played the soprano notes, then added alto as our proficiency expanded. From the shape of the do-re-mi notes, I figured out the bass clef, and soon was playing at church. Someone had taught me a little ditty with chords, which I played over and over until Walter finally protested. So I figured out how to use the chords with the hymns, and could also pick out some country songs by ear. One of the most popular tunes on the radio that year was Del Wood’s piano rendition of “Down Yonder”, which became my theme song.
Some of my friends became enamored with my new hobby and began taking piano lessons. I would watch them perform and steal some of their stuff. They complained about being forced to practice for a whole hour every day, and I felt sorry for them. I never thought of it as practice, banging away at the out-of-tune keys sometimes until I was exhausted, but never tired of “making music”. Some of those gals haven’t touched a piano keyboard in years.
Thank God for can-do parents who encouraged us to hone our skills with whatever tools were available!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
In 1948, the cotton patches seemed solid with white fluff, a bumper crop like we had never seen. This was the first year we lived on Cousin Boots Gunn’s place, our first house with electricity. Daddy bought a small freezer for our home-grown beef, a washing machine, and butane stoves. But best of all was the old piano for which he paid the handsome sum of $50. Now we could really make some music!
At first we only played the soprano notes, then added alto as our proficiency expanded. From the shape of the do-re-mi notes, I figured out the bass clef, and soon was playing at church. Someone had taught me a little ditty with chords, which I played over and over until Walter finally protested. So I figured out how to use the chords with the hymns, and could also pick out some country songs by ear. One of the most popular tunes on the radio that year was Del Wood’s piano rendition of “Down Yonder”, which became my theme song.
Some of my friends became enamored with my new hobby and began taking piano lessons. I would watch them perform and steal some of their stuff. They complained about being forced to practice for a whole hour every day, and I felt sorry for them. I never thought of it as practice, banging away at the out-of-tune keys sometimes until I was exhausted, but never tired of “making music”. Some of those gals haven’t touched a piano keyboard in years.
Thank God for can-do parents who encouraged us to hone our skills with whatever tools were available!
Cora Gail Trent
www.cgtrent.com
