The World According to Ms. Alison

Life in New York City, for me at least, is full of what I call "poem moments" - suspended snapshots in time that are so saturated with beauty, heartbreak and/or sheer bizarreness they add up to a sort of parallel universe of uninvited insights into what I guess is generally termed "the human condition".

Today's subway drama featured an intensely belligerent man who smelled of liquor and was wearing what appeared to be a hospital bracelet.  Anyway, he made it pretty clear he was clinically paranoid and not to messed with.  Like everyone else I sort of disappeared into the "awesome, another crazy, lalalalala" obliviousness characteristic of any true New Yorker.  Resuming reading "Fifty Shades of Grey" on the Nook of the woman next to me was a bit more interesting, but not much- as befits any NY Times bestseller, it's an appallingly mediocre book.  Just so you know. 

Regardless.  The man next to me engaged Raging Potentially Violent Guy (RPVG) in conversation and with admirable diplomacy directed  RPVG's ire in the direction of the inadequacies of the MTA, a cunning target as we were on a train.  He then took his diplomacy to a whole new level by asking  "So, man, what do you do to relax?  Everyone's gotta have a hobby".

Rageful Potentially Violent Guy instantaneously morphed into Relaxed Positive Vibe Guy.  "Music", he said.  "Music is my life".

Music is pretty much my life too.  As such, I take it for granted.  (Also, like any profession, it's often as much stress as it is satisfaction, let alone having much therapeutic value).  Seeing what the mere thought of music meant to RPVG, and maybe lots of other people too- and by extension, the affirmation of the value of what I do- which is what I am- another MPM (Major Poem Moment).

God how I love this city!

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Over the years it has ceased to surprise me that, when I ask small transfer students what it is (or was) about piano that they like (or used to like), the answer often references the candy or stickers they are accustomed to receiving just for showing up.

Even if I thought it was the best pedagogical premise EVER (ahem), candy is not an option in my studio as, obviously, I would eat it all myself.  Stickers?  I quit those suckers cold turkey a couple years ago and haven't looked back.  Novelty erasers?  Trophies?  Ribbons?  No, when it comes to these things, I concur with the kid who confided "Ms. Alison, I'd much rather get a gift card from Target".

How much sweeter it is for me, then, when those periodic outbursts of enthusiasm to which little kids are prone can only be due to their actually liking piano and not an anticipatory sugar high.  Here are some of my favorite impromptu "valentines" this week:

"Ms. Alison, piano could NEVER be boring!" (big shiny eyes, breath held in utter earnestness).
"Ms. Alison, I want to have piano every single day this week!" (bouncing maniacally on bench).
"Ms. Alison, your clock is broken" (perplexed response to being informed lesson is over).
"Ms. Alison, look in my book bag!" ...(moments filled with high suspense)...I spent my ENTIRE RECESS making that for you!" (dedicated artist of today's blog image).
"Ms. Alison, is your real hair colour dirty blonde?" 

Okay, so one of those things is not like the others.  But still.  You.  Can't.  Buy.  Love.  Especially not for the thing YOU love and are trying to teach.  Unless...you happen to have a Golden Retriever in the kitchen who might, maybe, come out to be petted...IF the lesson goes well.  Maybe.  Just sayin'.

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When naughty piano teachers are finally sent to The Big Practice Room in The Sky, there are a couple things we can count on.  First of all, just like in mortal life, The Big Practice Room itself will be so small you cannot open the door without it banging into the piano.  There will definitely be no ventilation.  Of any kind.  Ever.  On a good day it will smell merely of bananas.  And it will, of course, be acoustically designed to amplify every forsaken squeak and paradiddle issuing forth from the neighboring clarinet and drum studios .  Above, the flute choir, playing arrangements from the latest episode of "Glee".  Below, fire and brimstone.

And there will be, of course, an infernal, diabolical loop of "Fur Elise" and "The Entertainer" (probably ringtones).  It's another blog for another day about how many tiny transfer students arrive having spent at least a semester working on the first 8 measures of the original scores of either (or, dear god, both).  Admittedly, pretty much every five year old arrives for their first lesson knowing they want to play it- HOW they know this is sufficient evidence that hell must indeed exist.  And WHY anyone would "teach" it to students who can barely handle a late elementary method book can only be evidence of a hidden epidemic of masochism among my colleagues.

So.  Ms Alison being nothing if not pragmatic, she strongly suggests (as in, with every fiber of her eternal soul) diverting student interest to the performance of said pieces on alternate instruments.  A quick Google search will reveal arrangements for glass harp, sousaphone, banjo, accordion, didgeridoo, and lots of inspirational snowglobes.

Snowglobes!  Nice!

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