Moonlight Sonata

I cannot hear that song played without thinking of my grandma. She played the piano amazingly; with feeling and emotion. If she was upset, you knew it the second she sat down at the piano and played a song. If you were upset, she would play the piano and make you sing until you were laughing...or at least smiling. She was the one who taught us all that you cannot sing a song and remain angry. Sooner or later, the smiles would break out.

I loved my grandma, with her crafty nature, and fiery--yet always controlled--temper. She had an imagination that would put even me to shame. Her love of Shirley temple, Pride & Prejudice, Perry Mason, and many others, have been passed down to her children and grandchildren alike. There wasn't a holiday I remember, where the girls of our family (and even grandpa, a time or two) didn't stay up late into the night, watching all 6 hours of Pride & Prejudice from beginning to end. Never mind that we had all seen it many times before.

My grandma, who helped teach me to read, by having me highlight words like God, Jesus, and Savior, in the Scriptures (Bible & Book of Mormon), every time I saw them. After I was good at finding those words, she would add more for me to find, until eventually, I was reading.

I have many memories of my grandma, and each is triggered by some seemingly random, but significant event. Like the playing of a song; Moonlight Sonata. I hear it, and I am taken back to one of many scenes. In this one, my grandma sits next to me, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she plays Moonlight Sonata so I can hear what it sounds like. I can read notes, but I don't understand tempo. And so she plays, her body slightly swaying in rhythm.

The song goes on to become one of my favorites, and I play it obnoxiously often. So often, that my siblings complain when I play it. And so I stop, until the next time we visit grandma's house. Everything is fair game at grandma's house. She hums along as I play the song over and over, missing notes, and to a different tempo each time. But still she hums.

And when every person in the house is sick of the disjointed song played by untaught hands, she sits down slowly, waiting for me to finish. And before I can start again, she slyly invites me to play a duet with her.

Every time I hear that song....

1 comment:

  1. That was a great post except that it made me sad and missing my mama. Nice job and well written.


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