School of Velocity

A meditation on Czerny, Beethoven, and parents bygone.

It was my mother in law’s birthday yesterday, and a very sad thing not to be able to call and sing to her anymore, or send her flowers.

I had a piano lesson instead, on her beautiful Baldwin, the one her mother bought for her as a teenager when her father died. The receipt is still in the piano bench for $2828, financed like a car and paid for in installments. A lot of money in 1951. Priceless, now.

I remember sitting on this bench when we visited Colorado, my son and I laughing at the steampunk sounding title of the book on the music rack above the ivories: Czerny’s School of Velocity. It had a lot of notes in it, for playing really really fast. It was one of her favorites.

We never heard her play.

Apparently she was very good. You would imagine so, having a place to focus when she missed her dad. But she was a modest person. She played for herself, not to perform. Whenever we were around she was in hosting mode.

I’ve got a place to put my feelings now when I miss my dad. His birthday …