Yesterday I escorted my six-year-old granddaughter and my eight-year-old grandson to their piano lessons at Harmonia in Virginia.
I was nine years old when I began my piano lessons with Miss Dvorak. (I don't remember her name, only the composer that she loved so much.)
For several years, without missing a beat, my beloved piano teacher arrived every Tuesday afternoon to make music with me on our monstrous upright piano. She was the refreshing pause in my week that was regimented with public school, afternoon religious school and trips to visit my sister at the faraway rehabilitation center in Upstate New York.
Playing piano with Miss Dvorak was always a New World Symphony.
Today, while watching my grandchildren take their private piano lessons with the new Miss Dvorak, I heard a spiritual refrain.
Making music alone or with someone is a spiritual asset that is better than a new iPod.
As I watched my grandchildren use their "spider" hands to punctuate every black and white note, I relaxed to replenish my musical reservoir.
"It is time for more piano lessons," I heard Miss Dvorak whisper to me from another world. "Never too late to begin again."