As a child, I fantasized wildly of being a concert pianist who played in large halls with huge appreciative audiences.  I took lessons through my elementary years with the strict and sensitive Mrs. Schwartz.  She was great.  No recitals, just me and my imaginary concerts.

When I started college, I returned to piano.  At SUNY-Binghamton I had the phenomenal opportunity to start my first semester studying piano with Mr. Walter Ponce.  From Bolivia, he is a world master!  The grace of his fingers on a keyboard can be compared to an angelic ballet dancer whose power and control lets him leap fiercely across a stage then slowly turn with gentle elegance.  It’s great to hear and watch, especially as Mr. Ponce’s entire frame would shake when he pounded all fingers on the keys.  Ironically, he couldn’t type to save his life and he had a most clumsy manner in handling sheet music.  Anyway, I got to take lessons with this amazing man.

I took it seriously and practiced every day.  In that semester I had my first recital ever.  I can’t remember what I was thinking.  What I do recall is that after finishing my piece and discussing it with the teachers and students I excused myself from the room.  I exited the building and at the nearest shrub I vomited.  My lesson that day was more than piano lessons.  Apparently, a critique of my childhood dream was hard to swallow.