I have always wanted to be able to make beautiful music. I would love to be able to sing, or play guitar. Voices and guitars can be so lovely, and choirs. One of the greatest things that ever happened to me was being part of a church choir.
I do play piano, sort of, but have not had enough training, nor have
spent the time necessary to get good at it. But I enjoy plunking away
from time to time. I generally play hymns, but once in a while I get
out the old classical books and take a stab at 'em.
If there are not more than 4 sharps or flats, I'm game. Well, if the
fingering's not too tough. One thing I find particularly difficult is
playing a trill. I don't get around that much, and find myself experiencing the
same sensation when dealing with escalators.
When faced with an escalator, on the rare occasion I find myself in an
airport or a shopping mall, I get a little nervous. I can get on there
all right, no problem, and am not worried about the ride, either. In
fact, if nobody's in the way, I usually take two steps at a time. The
problem is getting off.
It is always an awkward moment--when to make my move. I don't know if
other people feel uncomfortable in this situation; I've never asked
anyone. Inwardly, I suddenly feel like a little girl who doesn't know
what she's doing, and how does anyone know exactly when, and how,
to jump off a moving stair case?
But you've got to do it. If you don't, something terrible might happen. You might fall down and skin your knee on the dratted thing.
(Hmm, perhaps a repressed memory emerges...) Anyway, I always do
manage to step off the beast, somehow, feeling somewhat conspicuous as I
take that uncertain stride, cringing inside, hoping for the best.
And this is exactly what happens to me when playing a trill on the piano. I can go into it all right, with gusto even, can manage it right through the
middle, rolling along, possibly even enjoying myself...until I awaken to the fact that
it's about to end.
You see it coming, you have to pick that moment, and leap off the tremoring flailing of fat little fingers and somehow land, decisively, clearly, and pleasantly on the next solid note. It is as preposterous as trying to gracefully step off an escalator. For me, anyway. Especially in 3/4 time. I am not a pianist. Obviously.
