When I hit my teens, I suddenly needed to make music. I started by teaching myself the recorder. And by recorder I mean that, most commonly plastic, distant cousin of the flute in case there was any confusion. My brother and I played duets, which helped raise the recorder to musical heights, and I used the recorder to learn melodies including my beloved Gregorian chant. As you might imagine I found the recorder rather unsatisfactory in filling my need for music and somehow obtained a keyboard (various types of thanks due to our good friend Mrs Best here, for a loan and transportation). I started to teach myself piano.
About this time my Godmother Noeline or Nunole, as we called her, and Mr Best were in the same rest home. My siblings and I sometimes went there to sing for the old folks. On one of our visits we met Sister Hillary. She was there often, faithfully visiting her old comrade, the once formidable Sister Ambrose, then sadly reduced in her old age. Sister Hillary, who must have been well in her 80’s, took me on as a piano student, with a little singing and conversation on the side. She was always positive about my playing which helped me greatly. The singing was a bit more difficult as Sister was sure I had a naturally high voice and would try to demonstrate good techniques for the top notes of my register which she was no longer capable of hitting. I still have some hopes of one day living up to Sister’s expectations and successfully graduating to a soprano register.
I was rather a shy piano player and Sister Hilary used to joke that I should play louder as I wasn’t breaking the silence. It took a future piano teacher of mine, who was, funnily enough, a former student of Sister’s, to get me to play for others rather than quietly to myself.
We had many good chats including one with Sister congratulating me once on my luck in being homeschooled as I would not be getting the “fluff” served up as religion in present day Catholic schools.
I will always be impressed by her daily visits to Sister Ambrose, walking there after she was too old to drive safely even when it was so windy she could barely stand and would have to take breaks hanging onto a power pole. She was with Sister Ambrose when she died. And I will always be sad that after such care for her sister in religion she was alone when she died herself.
Reqiescat in pace
Katherine Wansink Writes 