In addition to “Au Clair de la Lune,” I am practicing “Lavender Blue”, “Edelweiss”, “By the Rivers of Babylon” and “Simple Gifts.” I could make a poem out of that, but music? Not so much. I am getting slightly better, I tell myself. Small and white, clean and bright, every morning instead of greeting me the notes scatter like chickens confronting a cobra. I shoehorn in a bit of rhythm. A syncopation. Rhythmic variation implies a level of facility with the standard oom-pah, My variations have a simpler name: mistakes. Left hand wants to do what the right hand is doing. Don’t do that. The right hand is making its own blunders.
Tis a gift (I ain’t got it—not yet, anyway) to come down where you ought to be.