Piano Lessons

When I was 8 years old my parents decided I was old enough to take piano lessons.  They knew a lady from church who taught lessons so I went to her for several months.  I think they paid $3 a lesson.  I don't remember how long Mrs A was my teacher but my mom wasn't happy with what I was learning.  I think the teacher's approach was to let me play at whatever tempo I felt like and Mom didn't feel I was getting enough structure.  So she switched us (my sister and I) to one of the top private instructors in town.  Mrs B was an older woman who lived in an older part of town.  We would be dropped off and during the next hour we would each have a 30 minute lesson.  For every song we played correctly we received a sticker or a star and for every sticker or star we could have one gumdrop.  Apparently at age 9 I was very entertaining for Mrs B's friends because one day I told her my favorite magazine was The New Yorker.  I have no idea what was in the articles - I just loved a magazine that had cartoons on so many pages!  Mrs B held annual recitals and we had to memorize our selections, perform them for her beforehand, and at the recital we stood up, announced our musical selection, played it then stood up and bowed before returning to our seats.
When I was about 11 or 12 we moved on to Mrs H who attended our church and would teach us the hymns and also teach us to play the organ.  Mrs H was British and one of the most self-disciplined women I have ever met.  With both of us at about the same skill level we frequently performed two-piano duets at recitals or organ and piano numbers at church.  One time we performed The Holy City on organ and piano with a cute high school guy as vocal soloist.  Ten years later he married my sister but that's another story.
Recitals for Mrs H were held at the church and as I got older it became a challenge to find time to practice and memorize the music.  By the time I was 16 I was Primary pianist, busy with high school activities plus early-morning Seminary and had a part-time job, and my piano lessons and her recitals were just something else to survive.  My final recital was a disaster.  I only had a short number to perform but I didn't practice enough, so at the recital I completely forgot the middle portion.  So I made up something, played the ending and quit.  Mrs H was livid and I don't think she ever forgave me.  Several years later we were visiting church in that little town and she rushed down the aisle after the meeting to hug my sister and take her back up to see the new organ. 
She barely acknowledged me.
In spite of all the drama, I am so grateful that I learned to play the piano and love being able to relieve stress or sorrow by sitting at the piano and playing until my hands are too tired to continue.
When Neal was alive he loved hearing me play and would sit in his wheelchair where he could watch me and listen.