Practice Makes Perplexed

It's obvious, looking at the generous coating of dust on the keys, that I haven't practiced the piano in awhile. But hey, it's supposed to be like a bicycle, right? Jump right back in there and do your thing? Nyet. Nein. Non. Nahin. Playing the piano with any finesse at all requires regular periods of uninterrupted attention, something that's entirely impossible in my current daily repertoire of events.

Still, I thought I could fiddle around a bit, just for fun. My plan was reasonable enough: the day's dealings had already fried my brain by two in the afternoon, so half an hour at the piano seemed like a good way to reset the system. The piece is interesting, but simple: the Barcarolle from Louis Vierne's Sihoutettes d'Enfants (you can hear a tiny snippet here). Normally, I'd read the music, play the left-hand notes, play the right-hand notes, and then put them together in some reasonable semblance of the piece.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the formula: my glasses literally got in the way. With progressive lenses, I have to tilt my head back to read the music, then forward to see the keys. The bottom of the frames cut my plane of vision in half. I lost my place every time. I couldn't put left and right together. I tried not looking down, which made it worse. The whole thing was a disaster. I guess this is an old lady's problem. I guess I'm back to square one. I guess it's time I learn to play by ear...