I am not sure what prompted my mom to look for a piano, but I remember the day vividly. We took the train to Buffalo. Then we went to Denton, Cottier, and Daniels. I am not sure about how that middle name is spelled but I did the best I could. We were looking for a piano. My mom looked at several types but ended up buying an anniversary model. It was to be delivered in a couple weeks. My mom was so excited. She played the piano herself and had visions of me taking lessons.

When the piano arrived, we had to clear out a place in our living room to put it. Luckily my grandfather had already removed the little china closets that used to sit between the living room and dining room. We made a spot in the center of the wall.

The men carefully carried it in. We had no music except for a hymn book. Mom could not wait to try out the piano.

The next thing was for my mother to find someone to give me lessons. She settled on Miss Steiger. She gave lessons in her home on Dove Street. I had no idea what to expect.

I was taken back by her imposing look. She was a very large woman, not fat, but quite tall. Her hair was a brilliant shade of red and it was all curls. She requested that my mother leave me with her. She had lesson books that she sold to her pupils. I got my first one.

I remember that one of the songs was “If a Woodchuck Could Chuck Wood”. I knew a little bit about reading music because I was in the chorus at school. She also gave me scales to practice. I think I started with the “C” scale.

I was to practice at least one-half hour a week. Since I had just a little to practice that seemed like a lot of time. It was. I went through everything and still had time to play. My friends used to wait outside while I practiced. I remember yelling that I had five more minutes. As soon as the time was up, I hurried outside to play.

I faithfully practiced each and every day. I learned how to play that song about the woodchuck. The next week she added another song from the book. She also gave me another book with more scales to practice. Practice the next week went a little better.

When you had a very good lesson, she allowed you to pick a candy bar from her stash. I remember picking one that was filled with fudge. When I finished a piece, she put a sticker on the top. I enjoyed collecting stickers.

Each Saturday I rode my bicycle to my lesson unless it was raining. If it was raining my mother dropped me off. She had to go to work. Her boss had Saturday off.

I had a large bicycle basket that I carried my books in. I loved the ride across town. I used to go through Washington Park where there was a statue of Neptune and a fountain. If I had extra time, I stopped to admire the fountain.

Miss Steiger also gave out little busts of famous musicians. Before I finished, I had a quite a collection of them. I am not sure what I did to earn them.

I took lessons for a little over three years and had three recitals. Preparing for them was nerve wracking. You had to memorize your piece and hoped that you would not forget part of it. She held her recitals at the college in the big auditorium. You sat with your family, then got up to go to the stage to play.

When I was taking my lessons, I never guessed how I would use them. My first use was when I did my student teaching. My junior year assignment was in kindergarten. I played the piano for the children. I taught the children a song along with an art project.

Eventually I used my piano skills to accompany our family when we sang together in church. I took some lessons to learn the chords. That helped my playing a lot.

I was never a good piano player but I managed. Once again when I went down to kindergarten, I had to play the piano. The children loved to watch my fingers travel across the keyboard. I used my one recital piece when we did our rhythm band. That was a day that the children looked forward to.

Now, my piano is at my daughter’s house. She took lessons too and was really a lot better than I ever was. Her daughter also took lessons. I went to many recitals throughout the years. I am not sure if they were as nervous as I was, but we all got through it.

Ann Swanson writes from her home in Russell. Contact at hickoryheights1@verizon.net.