Finding my way back to the music I loved when I learned to play piano

I’m sitting at my office desk, scrolling through emails, fingers in a kind of dance — Delete Delete Delete. Pause — when a beckoning sound, rich and melodious, filters in from the living room. My piano is being tuned, and the technician, nearly finished with doing his magic, is testing his handiwork.

I follow the sound to the alcove where the piano, a Baldwin baby grand, is nestled. Finished with the fine-tuning, the technician is putting the music shelf back in place. Later, when I will sit down to play something from the sheet music and books that stand on that shelf, I get only a hint of the warm, rich sound that floats through my house like ghost music when someone else is playing.

Before he leaves, we talk about musicians and pieces of music we have a special appreciation for. I admit that I don’t play as much as I would like to. Frustration at mastering a piece gets in my way. He reminds me that there are music books with the simpler (not simplified or edited) pieces that composers wrote.

Beginner’s mind goes far beyond Zen meditation . . .

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