Piano and lessons

On June 25, 1983, our new piano was delivered. Having given the Victorian-looking upright into Stephen & Mary's keeping, we bought a Yamaha more in keeping with our tastes. It is black, satin-finish, and a console--larger than a spinet, smaller than an upright. Now, time for piano lessons.

I tried. I enlisted the best piano teacher in the ward, Betty Duncombe. I sent Gordon faithfully for a while, until she reported to me that during his lesson, he would lay down on the bench and go to sleep. How embarrassing! We stopped lessons for a while so I could regroup and find a more engaging teacher.

Next our neighbor, Paul Cervenak. He used to do keyboards for a rock band, and was certainly more hip than dear Sister Duncombe. But that didn't work out either. I think he was really flaky or something.

Grandma Ada was next; she was a piano teacher extraordinaire, and she lived in Mesa, and the kids adored her. But after a few weeks Ada begged off; piano teaching no longer suited her temperament.

I think we tried others from time to time, but so briefly that their tenure has escaped my memory. So these hit-and-miss lessons were mostly misses. The only lasting benefit was that Karren learned enough to get her started, and she continued on her own to achieve a respectable level of competency.