Pianorama
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Butterfly got in trouble (again) at piano class today.  I should explain the “again” by telling you that she has, over the years, gotten this poor piano class completely disrupted and off-course.  You know how you start out any musical instruction by playing scales and simple finger exercises?  Well, Butterfly got bored with those pretty early on and for years started bringing her own music and distracted everyone, included the teacher, with polkas, hits from the 40s and the Best of Lawrence Welk. 

Butterfly wows the crowd at a Christmas party

 I’ll remind you that she takes lessons from a 96-year-old who lives in a nursing home.  The teacher is almost blind, but deaf she is not.  She has always, always, (until Butterfly), taught in a very conventional way.  That includes everything she taught (she was everyone’s 1st or 2nd grade teacher in this neck of the woods for several decades) and piano was no exception.  Recently she decided to start this group of upstarts over and make sure that she leaves a proper legacy.

I just like this picture (I took it at the Victoria & Albert Museum in London several years ago)

 Today’s only other student was playing scales and Butterfly was supposed to be sitting quietly, listening and minding her own business.  This is a skill one learns in kindergarten.  Unfortunately, Butterfly skipped kindergarten.  She also never learned this skill in any of the other grades she attended.

Teach (as Butterfly calls her), asked the student, “Tell me the signature you’re playing in?”

Butterfly knew this meant she was asking what key she was playing in, but the student apparently did not.

The student didn’t reply, but just kept playing.

Teach asked again, “Tell me what key it is!”

The student replied, “It’s G, it’s the key of G!” and kept playing.  The problem is, she kept hitting the wrong notes.

Teach then asked, to try to get her to realize the wrong notes she was hitting, “Tell me what notes you are hitting?”

The student replied, “F flat.”

At this point, Butterfly could no longer control herself and piped up, “Sharp, it’s a sharp, not a flat!”

Teach whirled around in her scooter chair and Butterfly said if looks could kill I would now be writing Butterfly’s obituary.

“Sorry, Teach!” Butterfly apologized, trying not to laugh.  She also told me it’s an art to whirl around in a scooter chair.

I told her she needs to sit quietly and if she feels an overwhelming need to speak while someone else is playing, she should raise her hand.  If Teach doesn’t call on her, she doesn’t get to speak.

Guess what?  I don’t think she heard a word I said because she was laughing and talking the entire time I was lecturing her.