A Christmas card sixteen days after Christmas, yet it made my entire day. Why, because it came from Mrs. Christina, that's why! I'm not sure how common it is for people to have friendships with their teachers, but it wasn't unheard of with me. Whether those teachers liked me in return is up for debate, but I made an impression on one of them; my former piano teacher. My mom felt that The Sister and I should have a proper ladies education. We learned dance and piano, which is apparently all she could fanangle around here. So, I started taking piano lessons when I was about three. I think I'm four in the above photo. It was with a lady I barely sort of remembered seeing around our church. Though she was the church organist, during my childhood in the old church, the organ was in the back. So I was only paying attention to our then priest talk in his Irish accent and constantly lick his lips while talking, because I couldn't fathom how he could do it. She was a Filipino lady who was a genius with music, her forte being the piano. And that's what she did. She gave private lessons in her home. Her husband was also musically inclined, but taught at the university. She was fussy and strict, but I liked her right away. Kind of like a fussy cat, if you're a fan of cats, and you just want to keep being close until the cat likes you; as opposed to a mean or fussy dog... if you're still that cat fan. My earliest memories of mom gushing that I was sent home with special books and I was started out on a xylaphone. Apparently those books were music theory books. Is that special? I have no idea, but my mother thought so. Perhaps it's special when you're three? I never masted the reading of music, not one bit, however I was good enough to be entered into competitions, and placed first in my age groups. She never had any time for shenanegans, but was nice with me. She'd drill me and become super fussy before competitions, because if we looked bad, we made her look bad, and that couldn't happen. But I always came through with flying colours. The Sister too. The Sister being older though, didn't find her as adorable and hated the pressure before competitions. But I liked her. She was like a cool mother or auntie for me. I kept writing songs for her. I'd practice whatever it was I was supposed to practice, master it quickly, then practice out a song for her. At the beginning of some lessons, I'd tell her I had another song for her. "You better know the material." "Oh, I do! But, listen to this!" I'd play it. I don't think she was ever impressed. "I used all the nice notes, just for you." Lots of time it was just the black keys, because they didn't get a lot of attention in the songs I was learning and they sounded nice to me. "That's fine. Now let me hear ________" whatever song it was that I had been tasked with learning. The only reprimand I ever had from her was "Aiy! Don't karate chop the finger! Here. Like this." And she would proceed to show me how to gracefully hit the note with my pinky finger. With tiny and not very limber hands it was difficult for me to reach from my position to hit whatever key it was with that finger and would end up slamming that finger down sideways on the key. My mom and dad bartered the fine jewelry he made for things like dental and orthodontics, dance lessons, and these piano lessons. She had enough jewelry and no long wanted to barter by the time I was eleven, so the piano lessons stopped. But, I missed learning, so when I was thirteen they either paid or found another barter and I was going again. However, we got to Camptown Races in the book and I just couldn't do it. Week after week after week, I would have practiced, but I still could not master it. I begged her to let us skip ahead in the book and come back. "Absolutely not. We do not skip ahead." So, after three months of that song kicking my ass, I quit. I'd always wanted her to be fond of me, but I figured that she probably wasn't. I was thoroughly convinced that since I couldn't master that stupid song, she'd never be proud of me. Fast forward to my mid-twenties. The Sister was working at the church and ran into Mrs. Christina. She came home and said, "You're in big trouble. Don't ever get married and not invite Mrs. Christina to the wedding! She must love you, because she doesn't seem to care about other people like this!" So, there was a Roberts lady working there and her daughter, a few years younger than I, also named Sarah, was getting married. Mrs. Christina simply heard that Sarah Roberts was getting married and was so upset that I wouldn't have her play the music or at least be invited. I didn't even think she'd remember me, much less care. I probably won't ever get married, but if I do, she'll have to be there, or she'll play if she still can. I'll build that entire wedding around her. You think I'm kidding, but that woman meant a lot to me. She still does. So after that she took the new Korean girl under her wing. A girl here to attend university, but who was Catholic, so started showing up at church. She introduced her to the youngest son of our family friends and BAM! they were engaged. Her and her husband stood in as her parents, with the ceremony being recorded live so that her family in Korea could watch. And this is where I saw Mrs. Christina again since the fifteen years when I'd quit taking piano from her. We were at the wedding shower and then Mrs. Christina was three inches from my face. She'd spotted me from across the room. "Sarah! So good to see you. How are you?" We hugged (which I didn't think Mrs. Christina did) and she gushed about me. Being her best student. Her favourite student. I almost cried, but didn't because I don't like crying in public. Mrs. Christina liked me! I wasn't wrong. Since then, I started sending her a Christmas card every year and she would send one back. Always with the nicest little things written in them. About how she missed me and loved me. She was like a mom to me. I was a little worried this year when her card didn't arrive. I think she's still fit and fine, but I think she's slightly dotty. Just slightly. Perhaps that's why she's so open with me, when she never would have been. Hell, my parents went though marriage encounter with her and her husband. Even my mom is like, "I don't know what impression you made on her, but you certainly did. Christina doesn't do these things." Moms friend is the secretary at the church and they discuss all church business. Gossip really, disguised as prayer requests. "Do you remember so and so? Well such and such happened. I know! Well, pray for them." Anyways, so I keep hearing about people who have passed away, or if they end up in hospital, etc. "Mom. Not to be mean, but I only care if it's Mrs. Christina. The second she's sent to a nursing home or is in hospital or whatever that's life changing, I want to know it. If she passes away, I want to know it. And not six months after like with Frank." My friend, whose mom is that secretary, used to give me the same church gossip. She was tallying off names of people that this or that happened to. "I don't remember if you remember the old man from when we were kids..." I excitedly interjected, "Frank?!? Yes, I remember him!" "Well, he's another who passed away." "What?! When?!?" all upset now. My friends giving me this look o_0 and replies with, "Err... like six months ago or something." like why is she upset over some old weird guy. I'd leave mass early to meet my friend, which were this girl and another girl. We'd plan to sneak out so we could get a few iced cookies and a cup of punch before all the women gobbled it all up and then run to the woods next to the church to explore. Sometimes I wasn't able to sneak out early, other times they weren't. So, some Sunday mornings it would just be me entering the kitchen and then the small dining/socializing area looking for them. I'd always find Frank sitting at a table alone drinking coffee. None of the mothers liked him, tried to keep their kids away from him. Said he was always drunk. I liked him. He seemed a little shabby on the outside, but he was a nice guy even if he was sad. I'd always talk to him and he seemed amusingly annoyed and grumpy, but I know he liked talking to me. Found out later that he probably did have a problem with drinking and somehow his family wouldn't have anything to do with him which is why he was so sad. I had to piece all that together, because though my mom said, "Isn't that sad?" She didn't mean it and still didn't want me talking to him. What if I'm the only person that ever talked to him? I never saw anyone else talk to him, but we'll hope the priest or some men talked with him or something. Just friendly chat, not a "talking to" sort of talking. I also never thought about it as a child, but did he even go to the service? Or did he also sneak out early for some peace before everyone got in there? I'll never know. I would have gone to his funeral and paid my respects to him. But he's the gossip that wasn't worth mentioning except as an afterthought, which still makes me sad. So, I had a talk with my mom after I learned this from my friend. "Did you know Frank died? Oh she did mention it a few months ago... but you didn't tell me? I liked him, that's why I'm upset." And I think that's why she started telling me about everyone who died or was in hospital. Anyways, so I was slightly worried when I didn't hear back from Mrs. Christina. But she's alive and well. It's her handwriting on the envelope and inside the card. And you can see why it made my day. "Fond thoughts of you!"
"A Toast!" "Love you dearly,"
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AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
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