Once in a Lifetime

Once in a Lifetime

So we did the Austin thing. Two weeks ago we took the family down to Texas to visit my old stomping grounds. We left on Thursday and came home Monday. This was our spring break, albeit early. ISD #196 spring break is Holy Week this year and that pretty much put the kibosh on any dreams of Hawaii. Woe is us.

It has a happy ending.

After the flight landed we drove immediately to El Mercado. Sitting outside they brought us bottomless fresh tortilla chips and we hooked ourselves up to the I.V. drip of salsa. Real salsa. Mainline. Fresh cilantro. I also ordered a Corona, even though it was only noon, because, well, that’s what you do, at El Mercado, sitting outside, in the courtyard, eating your chips and salsa. You don’t even really have to drink it, you just have to have it in your hand.

We proceeded to be Austin tourists. Barton Creek. Toy Joy. Waterloo Ice House. Hamilton Pool. Mama, is this where you went with your boyfriend Dean? Is this another place you lived?  So, I guess I overdid it with the “kids, look!. . . This is where I lived in grad school. . . . “  They glance up from the screen toward the white box garage apartment with three A.C. units hanging out the second story windows. Neat, Mama. Patronizing at best.

Show a little respect. This is sacred ground. This’s where I learned to live alone. Not everyone can say that. It took four years, and the first few weekends were gut wrenching lonely, but by the end I couldn’t ever imagine sharing a bathroom with anyone ever again.

The place hasn’t changed in 18 years. Mama, is that bad? You look sad. I don’t know. I guess the landlord could have thrown a coat of paint on it. I think my little garden might still be growing. The outdoor steps never quite recovered from the Mayflower moving guys hauling the Baldwin out. The gate is still hanging off the fence.

Bill made the executive decision to take the kids to Whataburger while I went to lunch with Doris and Vickie and Mary P. Good call, Bill. Lunch with four piano teachers takes two to three hours at best. 

On the way to lunch, driving in Doris’s car, she casually mentions that she has decided to sell her Steinway. Right there on Dean Keaton Avenue, I almost had to pull the car over. She forgot about my letter last March, where I tried to have some small ounce of tact while making it clear to her that if her children weren’t interested in the piano and if she didn’t take it to some future apartment, I would like to be first on the list to buy it. That’s okay.  She’s had a lot on her mind.

I told her right then and there on Dean Keaton that I wanted it. She insisted that we come down to San Marcos and play it.

The last time our whole family was in Texas was at least five years ago. The last time we had this kind of leisurely weekend was never. Forgive me if I say this was a total God thing. We had nothing planned for Saturday. After the token 65 minute wait for breakfast at The Kirby Lane Café on Kirby Lane and migas with tomatillo sauce and gingerbread pancakes, we hauled ourselves down to San Marcos in the rented minivan.

Doris was there waiting. Mary played through her Book 4 repertoire. Calvin played most of Bach’s F Minor Concerto and most of Beethoven’s Op. 2, No. 1 and Chopin’s Op. 18. I played a couple scales, cuz I’m so busy practicing with them I got no repertoire of my own. That was embarrassing, but I can take that.

There I sat next to Doris on the sofa where I spent books 1 through 5. I listened to the kids play that repertoire that they had just played on the MacPhail nine foot Steinway last weekend. I had all these sounds in my ears. Doris leaned over and said, “I think he likes that piano.” As if she needed to sell it. The piano shined. After they finished Doris and I just looked at each other. What could I possibly be qualified to say about this moment. I’m not worthy of comment. What finally came out of my mouth was something like, Doris—I can’t imagine that I could ever, ever, in my whole life, do any better than this. No piano could ever sound better than that afternoon and no instrument could ever had more meaning to me. What Ralph and Doris picked out 46 years ago, and played on and taught on, till this day, was too sacred to discuss.

There are a few moments in a marriage that pierce your heart. Engagement. Two lines on a stick that you pee on. Births and deaths.

Bill said, I’ll go out to the car and get the checkbook. He let me write the check.

Don’t kid yourself—this is gonna take some sacrifice and more than a little creative financing—but it was the right thing at the right time. A once in a lifetime thing. Like everyone, my love and gratitude toward Doris is immeasurable. Now her piano will carry on the Suzuki torch, for everyone, through the Kotrba Piano Studio.  

Dear Lord, I don’t deserve this instrument. I’m not a concert pianist. But, I do have an appreciation for it beyond words. Let this piano be a blessing to my children, my students and to the Suzuki Community. Let the spirit of Ralph and Doris and their love of music and all the music that has been played on it carry forward to the children and teachers from generation to generation. Amen.