The Country Mice

Some beautiful music spaces exist in this city.

This little room abuts the side of a big and old Baptist church downtown, once a chapel filled with the faithful.

Among the faithful long ago sat Lucy Maud Montgomery, she of Anne of Green Gables fame, during her brief stint as a Torontonian. Lucy Maud’s house is just down the street.

In its current state, the former chapel hosts a highly polished ebony grand piano for music lessons and rehearsals.

We’re here for the latter.

The lad is here for an hour to prepare for a recital this coming weekend.

Maria, the pianist, patiently guides him through the finer points of rallentando and ritardando as they relate to his performance.

He’ll be playing the three movements of Vivaldi’s Concerto in G Minor and it’s kind of tough for a 10-year-old because he’s got to be the boss.

He has to set the tempo. He has to signal when wants her to start. He has to speed her up, slow her down, set the mood.

When you spend your day taking orders from the tall people in your life, that’s not so easy.

She tells him, “We’re a team, you and I. We work together. Don’t worry if we don’t get it right the first time. That’s why we come here.”

Here in this little room, with the ghost of Lucy Maud.

Would Anne Shirley hesitate to give orders to a tall person?

Unlikely.

Thus the pianist and the performer confer and converse, plan and prepare.

The hour ends, he bows, we leave.

We also go for ice cream.

Lucy Maud would approve.