#rikomethodschoolofpiano

[rikomethod]

The Girl with the Pearl Earrings

Ella is a very smart, curious, and mature first grader. We often chat during our piano lessons and the more I got to know this six going on twenty-seven-year-old, the more prepared I became for whatever she might have to say.  

The other day she was admiring my diamond and pearl earrings. I hesitated for a moment, but I decided to share the story anyway.

“I inherited these. Do you know what that means?”

“No, tell me.”

“It means someone close to you dies and they leave beautiful things they enjoyed for you to keep.”

She didn’t say, “Who died?” Instead, “She didn’t want them anymore?” was her question.

“Well, she thought it would be nice for me to enjoy them, this time.”

I was still a little nervous that perhaps she felt creepy about this conversation. Just then, her eyes got huge twinkles and said this.

“I know! I will have them when you die!”

I felt so loved by this child. I told her that I would be writing this brilliant idea down when I get home (it’s called the WILL!)

She doesn't need my earrings to remind her that we had a wonderful friendship. On the top of that, she will be playing the piano for the rest of her life!

[rikomethod]

Paula’s Thanksgiving

July 1985. I traveled to Alabama with my violinist boyfriend to perform a recital.

I had arrived in this country only 10 months earlier, leaving Okinawa, Japan to attend Peabody Conservatory of Music in Baltimore. I grew up having to practice piano all the time and never knew any other life style. School was relaxing compared to my regimented schedule at home, but the other students treated me like a freak. I wasn’t special enough for my parents but was too individualistic for the average school children and society of Japan in general. I lived my life as apologetically as possible. I thought this was the way I had to exist.

So, my freshman year in America was spent discovering everything.  Immediately, I realized that I was supposed to have been born on this soil. I was an American in the wrong country. I laughed. I drank. I partied. I discovered “happy”. The only thing I really missed was good food. I later found out that cafeteria food in college campuses is not representative of the national cuisine. Fatty. Greasy. Salty. Vegetables cooked to death. Imitation cheese was on everything. I ate it anyway. I had to forgive them. After all, everything else was perfect!

When we arrived at the home of my boyfriend in Huntsville, the whole family welcomed me with hugs and kisses. James’ four big sisters were very affectionate.  Paula, the best cook, offered to make dinner and told me to just name anything. I wasn’t trying to be impolite. Perhaps it was a language barrier. I said, “I don’t like American food.” Yes, it came out wrong. I am sure Paula was insulted, but she insisted that I find something that I like. Again, I wasn’t trying to be snooty. I was only happy to remember one thing I really liked. “Thanksgiving dinner!” She was shocked. But she wasn’t going let down this little Japanese brat.

The next day, the family gathered with all the sisters, the husbands, and grand kids. The dad said, “Wow, what is it? Thanksgiving?” I mean, turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, string beans, and, of course, pumpkin pie. I told Paula that this was the best meal I had had in U.S. She singlehandedly restored the pride of American culture.

I think about that hot July day every time I prepare my Thanksgiving dinner. Hard work. Generosity. But I think the real spirit was about the effort to understand the unknown. She showed me that it doesn’t have to wait until November to practice.