Kinesthetic Learner
Yesterday I tuned up my Ravenna and played one song from memory, then—mirabile dictu—two, three, four. My heart kept the beat; if it ever skipped it, it skipped it like a stone on water.
Cancer has occupied the space in my life where this went. It’s been months. No matter. Like cherry blossoms are abeyant in a winter skeleton, the songs are in me, my fingers’ sarcomeres. Each chord is an object I can palpate.
He tells me that every scale has a shape / and I have to learn how to hold / each one in my hands. / At home I practice with my eyes closed. / C is an open book. / D is a vase with two handles. / G flat is a black boot. / E has the legs of a bird.
— Piano Lessons, Billy Collins
I’ve determined to build a stout repertoire of memorized, performable pieces. Yesterday I sat on one buttock on the velvet of my bench and wished for a new training program to exercise my working repertoire. Moments later I was digging up my old business cards from my paralegal days and using the clean white backs to make song flash cards for an analog Leitner system. Spaced rehearsal—perfect.
It’s a serendipitous advent. Today I was invited to play for a wedding this fall!