A Conversation with Grandpa

Wow. It has been a long while since I've written anything on this blog. I guess I've been quite distracted lately.

Distracted. Busy. Exhausted. Repeat.

Well, today's offering has been brought to you by a family dinner that I had gone to last Saturday. I had arrived earlier than usual, armed with a week's worth of laundry and my book of Beethoven Sonatas. My Everest is actually Lizst's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 (think of every Bugs Bunny or Tom and Jerry cartoon that featured a piano duet) but since I am sorely out of classical practice, I brought out my favorite: Beethoven.

This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who knows me. Who else could speak to my sudden emotional roller coaster and bouts of melancholy other than Beethoven?

At any rate, I was working on the Adagio second movement of Sonata No. 8 when my grandpa took a seat. I became frustrated with a certain part of the piece and I reverted back to the lessons in piano discipline and went over the difficult pieces over and over again. I almost made it through when suddenly my fingers fumbled over a nine note run. Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air and looked at my grandpa with a face that revealed my broken heart.

It was at this moment when this lovely gem of a conversation emerged:

Grandpa: You lost it, huh?

Me: It looks that way.

Grandpa: I've warned you about this.

Me: I know.

Grandpa: You've lost your touch.

Me: I get it.

Grandpa: You're past your prime.

Me: [laughing with him] Really. I get the picture.

Grandpa: I thought you were still playing piano at your church.

Me: [huge sigh.] Not any more.

Grandpa: You see? I've warned you. If you stop playing, you'll lose it.

Me: [suddenly defiant.] I haven't lost it.

Grandpa: It sounds like it to me.

Me: I haven't lost it!

Grandpa: Well, it's either that, or you're old.

Me: Very funny. I am not old.

[we both laugh hysterically at the thought. I start to close my book.]

Grandpa: What are you doing? Keep playing.

Me: You told me that I've lost it.

Grandpa: Get it back.

[Grandpa returns to his New York Times crossword puzzle and I continue perfecting the song.] End scene.

I don't know why, but he is one of the few that can speak to me in a way that won't irrevocably damage my fragile musician ego. I've encountered a few barbs regarding my musicianship lately, but this conversation didn't break my heart like the others. Instead, it spurred me on to try harder.

Oh Grandpa, you always have a special place in my heart.

Sure, the conversation may have sounded harsh, but as punishment, he had to endure two hours of me hammering out the Beethoven piece until it was perfect, so I guess I got the better end of the deal.