March 15, 2005 at 10:13 AM

Most of the time when I practice, I have a small, nagging suspicion that I'm possibly annoying our upstairs neighbor. She is our summer camp's secretary, a bright, productive, multi-talented woman, mother of three twenty-something boys, and single. Occasionally, I visit the office just to see how she's doing and if she liked my last etude I tackled just after midnight. She always has the same response, insisting that she only hears it mostly in her living room, and she listens to the radio anyway when she goes to sleep, so she doesn't notice a bit. I wonder.

The day she brought home her new bichon frieze puppy, Taffy, everyone downstairs knew. She howled and howled, which we excused as part of puppy hood, until three months elapsed and every time the owner left the house we were notified by an all-out tantrum, complete with thuds, scrapes, and ripping sounds as she found her way into the kitchen cupboards and ate all the low-carb granola bars and sugar-free wafers. We actually hoped it would die, and when the secretary came down asking for peroxide(to induce vomiting) because her puppy had eaten her diabetic medicine--I secretly wished it wouldn't work. But we found a way to get along, Taffy and I, and when she got out of control, I would reach inside the pantry for the broom and bang on the ceiling under her kennel. She always hushed with nary a peep. I suspect she thought the Devil himself was poking with his pitchfork. If you look up while inside our pantry, you will see holes.

When the secretary's son, also our good friend, died in a plane accident in August, we would hear his yellow lab, Cody, howling in loneliness above my studio... but only during violin lessons. I tried to convince the kids that they weren't the cause, but perhaps it was appropriate that Cody could have some mournful wails from the violin to accompany his lowly state.

I think about my upstairs neighbor often, as she progresses through the stages of grief above in solitude. Sometimes, when I think she might be listening, I play some slow Bach or Celtic music. I haven't lost someone close, so I never know what to say, but for some reason, I know what to play.

The sounds that we trade back and forth through the ceiling have become routine over the two winters I've lived in this house. The pipes run at regular intervals, and the walls shudder with the slam of the door at about the same times each day. So I was surprised when one evening I heard music filter through the ceiling in reply to my own. It has been so long since she's played her flute, I forgot she was a flautist. It was pleasant for a change, listening to the muted tones as I typed, and my home felt a bit homier.

Tonight, as I was putting the rosin on my bow, I heard her again, so I paused and went to the phone. I heard her phone rumble three times and her footsteps across the ceiling as she went to answer. I told her we should work out a duet, perhaps a Telemann Canon or something. She talked about her upcoming performance at church and the loss of her ambature. I wanted to make sure she knew how much I appreciated her music and tried to encourage her to keep practicing, since it's something she loves. How often does she do something she loves?

From Nick Bleisch
Posted on March 15, 2005 at 7:44 PM

This could be the start of a beautiful friendship and music partnership! Trio for flute, violin and dog. Just kidding. There's a Bach piece for violin, flute, and keyboard. Cheers! Nikko

From Emily Grossman
Posted on March 16, 2005 at 4:03 AM

There's an appropriate poem by Billy Collins titled "Another Reason Why I Don't Own a Gun". Check it out.

From Sue Donim
Posted on March 17, 2005 at 3:06 AM

Hi Emily,

My ageing cat miaows loudly outside the door during students' lessons sometimes... there was a hilarious bit on the teaching video I submitted for my diploma, where a challenged adult learner was struggling with Liebeslied and the cat wailed in despair outside. I assured the student that he was just hungry, but I bet the examiners were wetting themselves.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on March 17, 2005 at 8:34 AM

Animals know. And they don't mind telling us so. My dog Ben groans when our trio rehearses in my living room. he practically covers his ears with his paws.

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March 15, 2005 at 10:13 AM

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