I had forgotten how it felt to sing with other people, and the sudden rush of memory and pure joy was like a kick to the heart
When I turned 23, I bought myself an electric piano. With proper weighted keys, a matching bench complete with leather seat, inbuilt music storage compartment and a beautiful rosewood finish, it remains the most expensive gift I’ve ever given myself.
That it was a treat to have my own piano would have confused my younger self. When I first started learning to play the instrument some 15 years earlier, the idea of regular music practice felt like a chore. I was initially taught to play by my father’s aunt, an elderly Catholic nun from the Presentation Sisters order. Auntie Loretta, as we called her, came to our house every week and taught first me and then my brothers on the century-old Griffin foot piano in the room that we called the dining room yet never dined in. In the careless way of children, I did not fully appreciate either her kind heart or the gift she was giving me until many years after it was impossible to tell her how much it meant.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/2FilsNQ
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