By Shirley O’Kealey

It has been my pleasure to play background music on the piano once a week at a Seniors’ Centre for the past month. I have been touched by the kindness, helpfulness, friendliness and generosity of all and so have just purchased my membership.

My credentials??? I received two years training when I was seven and eight years old. I refused to practice. My older sister who was in charge of discipline forced me to sit at the piano for one-half hour daily. There I sat , rigid and unmoving until the time was up. I followed this with a few lessons here and there; some chord training in my teens paid with baby-sitting money; a short session of night-school group lessons. Years later, as a working parent in my forties, I found a wonderful teacher who then sold her house and moved away the following month. (She was going to fill in all the gaps and was quite impressed that I had hung in for so long.) And last year, four lessons on improvisation with a jazz pianist whose information was way, way over my head.

This is what I wrote in my diary the first time after I played for the seniors. I arrived early with my book of piano music, checked at the front desk and enjoyed a “Dashaway” sandwich plate while the piano was being wheeled into the lounge. I tested the piano bench. It was far too low for me, requiring a cushion. I looked around for one and the gent nearby said I could have his for ten dollars. I tried to remove it but it was tied on tightly so I entered the dining room looking for another. The chairs had cosy upholstery and as I started carrying one off Trudy stopped me passed by and asked how I was doing, so I told her all about the two spiky trees that were poking me in the ear as I played---and the set of keys that was stuck in a keyhole behind my sheets of music making it difficult to turn the pages---and the sun that was shining in my eyes---and the bench being too low for me and that I was making a lot of mistakes as I was nervous, too. Lucy told me she would get a cushion for me right away and to put the keys in my “bosom” (so as not to loozm). As for the sunlight, I got up and leaned hard against the piano revolving it ‘til it suited me and the sun was at my back. People were looking but I didn’t care. I had a lot to do. I tossed my bag and coat and purse on the bench, carefully placed the saucer with raspberry square on top of the piano, (I looked forward to this little treat for later), was pleased with the cushion, opened my book and began to play.

The seniors chatted over their lunches; several came to talk to me. Those who are not musicians little realize how skilled one must be to talk and play at the same time. So I stopped playing, answered their questions, then started up again. The Yamaha piano made beautiful music. Pure and rich. Many thanked me. “What was happening? Why was I there? Was I going to come back? When?” (Did they think I was Act One of the Program or perhaps just the preliminary?) I told them, “Nothing is happening, no, nothing else, just me” and that I was there because I wanted to volunteer. “Are you coming again?” “Yes,” I replied. “It was fun. For sure. Definitely.”