So I practice. And practice. And take lessons. And listen. I dream about the music. Hum the music while buying eggs and milk and bread. CD's of Lupu, Rubenstein, Richter and Brendel provide inspiration while driving here and there. Attending live performances at Peabody or the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall to somehow absorb the competency of the man or woman holding forth on a beautiful Steinway concert grand.
And still I make mistakes. And still my fingers can't find the right note. And still my inner metronome misses a beat.
Oh to be a kid again focused on the music. Young brain and body capable of receiving great instruction from committed teachers. Finding myself deeply absorbed in the study of bringing beautiful sound into physical reality. Surrounding myself with music and knowing, deeply knowing that the pursuit of musical expression is a gift to be tended and nurtured and respected and pursued and honored.
