Sheila Bean Article and Photos

In my youth , I took years of piano lessons , sang in choirs , and played clarinet in a small-town marching band . But once I headed into the hurlyburly of adulthood , I let all of that fall away .

About seven years after high school , I bought a refurbished and modified player piano — a serious hunk of furniture . With my old stacks of sheet music , I had all I needed , except for a regular kick in the pants . Accountability . Someone to listen and offer suggestions .

I found my dream coach in Saskatoon , but with full-time work , I couldn ’ t practise enough to warrant a weekly lesson , so I saw her every other week . Although I had forgotten an astonishing amount of technique and theory in just a few short years , some of it came back . Lessons were the nudge

I needed . When I moved to Calgary , I met another wonderful teacher who prodded me forward .

Returning to my already known instrument unearthed buried abilities — reading music and translating that into finger movements . I ’ m still working on old skills , but the best moments happen when my nattering inner critic wanders off and I play without overthinking . The self-discipline of solitary practice feels good for my brain and well-being , as does the joy of playing a duet or accompanying a singer .

After my elderly piano teacher died , I admit that my keyboard energy flagged , even though I return to it in fits and starts . I ’ ve eased back into choirs , however , and also learned to play something new — West African drums .

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