Mrs. Rice

My piano teacher died last week. She was in her 90's. I wrote down some of my memories of my relationship with her. My prayers go to her family right now.

When I started taking piano lessons from Mrs. Rice I had been successfully fooling everyone around me as to my ability to play the piano. My previous teacher had given Erin and me the same songs to play; we were going through the same series of piano books. I let Erin get ahead of me by one or two songs in the book and listened to her practice them over and over and over. When I sat down to practice the songs I simply picked out the tunes I had heard Erin play and played them by ear. Every week at my piano lesson my teacher would give me a sticker and pass me onto the next song. I had fooled my parents and my sister, and even my piano teacher. But I couldn’t read music!
I can’t remember why we switched to taking lessons from Mrs. Rice. But I do remember our first lesson. I “graciously” let my sister have the first lesson figuring that I could still have a heads up on the songs I would play even if I didn’t have the normal amount of time to plunk out the tune from my head. I can still remember how her living room smelled when I sat there listening to Erin play. It was a sweet smell, an older smell, but not unpleasant… A smell from a different era. Or so I may have imagined anyway. When it came time for my turn I sat down and Mrs. Rice put a song in front of me to gauge my abilities. I looked at the song for a couple of heartbeats, I may not have been good at reading music but I could plainly see, with rising panic, that this was not the same song that Erin had played. I turned to Mrs. Rice in confusion… “This isn’t the same song that Erin played.” I said. She looked very wise when she said, “I know.” So I took a deep breath and started to play. It sounded awful! I actually had to take my hands off the keys to count with my fingers “G, A, B, C, D, E!” I had hardly played 4 bars when she stopped me. She marched to her closet and produced what was to be the bane of my existence for the next several years… theory books. My secret was out… I couldn’t read music and she knew it in less than 5 minutes.
For the next few years I watched in jealousy as my sister progressed smoothly to more and more difficult and beautiful pieces while I had to slog through theory books. Recitals were always an embarrassing affair where Erin would play a piece that she had memorized that was about 7 pages long and I would play my plainly inferior piece. But Mrs. Rice did not compare me with Erin, and neither did my parents… something that I will always be grateful to them for. Eventually, I did learn to read music, and I learned to read it well. But I was a stubborn child…
Mrs. Rice chose all my songs. Some of my friends taking from other teachers were playing fun songs from Phantom of the Opera or popular songs on the radio. I didn’t like all the pieces she chose, usually because they sounded so horrible when I started to play them (funny how I always warmed up to them when my skill improved). I was also frustrated sometimes by her unwillingness to let me play a song that I could master sooner rather than later. But Mrs. Rice never claimed to be an easy piano teacher and she wasn’t soft on me… which is exactly what I needed, and what I eventually became grateful to her for. One day I stormed into her house with my music and handed it back to her. “I don’t like this song” I stated shortly. “I want another one.” I fully expected her to give me another one and I was therefore shocked when she said no. “Why not?” I whined in fury (I now blush with shame at this memory). “When I was taking piano lessons I would never have told my teacher that I didn’t like a song” she said with equal fury. In my mind’s eye I imagine that we must have stared each other down for a minute or two. I’m sure this didn’t happen in real life, but it felt like it to me. Who would win a battle of stubbornness? This was a battle I was almost sure of winning, I was not born with a short amount of strong will (as you well know I’m sure!). But she was stronger than me, to my surprise and horror. I Plopped down on the piano bench feeling helpless and angry but she took no notice as she corrected me on the piece that I hated. We had several run-ins like this in the time that followed.
My sister decided that she would be better off with a teacher who was a little easier on her. She has what it takes to self-motivate so I knew she would excel in a softer environment, but by that time I was a little wiser myself. I knew that if I chose another piano teacher who let me play what I wanted and didn’t stand up to me I would go easy on myself and not progress, a problem Erin has never had. Besides, by that time I had really learned to respect and love Mrs. Rice and I couldn’t imagine being taught by anyone else. I genuinely wanted to excel because I wanted to hear her short praise. And I knew that I was getting better even though sometimes it felt like I must be getting worse!
Then when I got a little older I stopped practicing. I didn’t stop practicing at once, it happened gradually. I was living the busiest of lives, taking piano and voice and clarinet lessons and playing in all the team sports, as well as volunteering at church. My piano lessons suffered and I started to dread them because I had no excuse for my lack of practice. Finally my mother gave me an ultimatum. Either practice, or quit taking lessons (or pay for them yourself!). So I quit. I always felt guilty because I thought I had let Mrs. Rice down. I valued her opinion so much, and I missed our times together even though at first I didn’t miss not playing the piano.
Years later I had the courage to tell her how sorry I was and how guilty I felt for quitting the piano but she was so gracious to me. She said, “No, don’t feel guilty. You focused on your voice and your voice is so lovely!”
Mrs. Rice gave me so much in her time. She taught me one of my first lessons in humility, one that would be repeated throughout the years and is still being repeated occasionally today when I start to let my stubborn side get out of control. She gave me the gift of the language of music. I didn’t appreciate it then, but it has been invaluable to me. When I was much older I met someone with a wonderful voice who couldn’t read music. I assured him that it was easy and I could teach him, but when I started to teach him I realized that it was much more complicated then “sing higher when the notes go up, and lower when the notes go down.” Before he gave up on my clumsy teaching I tried to teach him half notes and whole notes, and 8th notes. And I didn’t even manage to get to 4/4 time or cut time or the bass and treble clef or the pianissimo or forte. Yikes! It really is like a language to learn and I never would have learned it without her. And she loved me even though I must have caused her all kinds of grief, and I felt that she loved me even though it wasn’t specifically expressed. Though I have not had much contact with Mrs. Rice in the passing years I will miss her, and I know she will be missed.