Midlife Meditation

There was never any doubt I would be a musician. My father began taking pictures of me at my mother's piano as soon as I was able to sit up by myself. My mother, a classically trained professional organist and piano teacher, started me on lessons when I was 5, and continued teaching me until I was 11, when I was allowed to choose a band instrument. I have little memory of the music I learned during those piano lessons, though I do remember that new sheet music had a wonderful fragrance to it. There are a number of pieces from Bach's Anna Magdalena Notebook I can still play--more likely fake--from memory, and that's about it. Considering my mother was a professional musician, and my father a gifted amateur, it's remarkable how little music I heard growing up. We had a phonograph, but it was mostly used to play children's records. There were a few LPs, as well as several box sets of 78s, that my brothers and I would occasionally put on, but there was little on t...