What Pulls Us Into a Day...
Watching older pianists on The Piano Australia makes me realise it's about something much more than music.
I watched The Piano UK and cried all the way through. So when The Piano Australia arrived, I was hesitant to delve back into deep emotion.
A couple of years on, with nothing to watch, I decide to dive in.
While there are some deeply moving younger participants, I focus on aging guests.
The Evergreens are a group of aging women.
They arrive dressed uniformly in navy pants and shamrock-green jackets, adorned with sparkling brooches, beautifully contrasted against the neutral urban palette.
They introduce themselves to the camera with ‘We are the Evergreens’ in unison with bright ear-to-ear smiles.
‘You’ve got a choice in life—you can grow old and grow grey or stay green like green shoots.’
A backstory reveals just how close their friendship is.
We watch Barb 80, Bev 81, Dell 75, and Christine, the baby, at 68, rustle up a morning tea spread that makes your mouth water, laughing and joking like sisters.
Four women playing piano together in Sydney’s biggest railway station, before commuters, TV cameras, and two expert pianists searching for participants to mentor for a concert at the end of the series.
Compere Amanda takes their handbags.
They take their place at the piano, just enough room for them all. We watch 4 sets of hands create delightful music: Galop-Marche for Eight Hands by Lavignac. Hands cross over each other. Someone turns the page. It all happens seamlessly.
The experts are shocked but impressed, asking if there is a leader, but decide they are just ‘having a conversation with their hands’
The music is pure joy.
Not performance.
Friendship made audible.
It captivates commuters. People have missed their trains for that, says Amanda
Bill is 103, tall, quite bent over, leaning on his walker, accompanied by his daughter, Sue, carrying his music.
Sue tells us that his hearing is getting worse, his sight is failing, but when he plays the piano, he comes to life.
‘Playing the piano, I have something to hang onto.’
‘If I didn’t have the piano, it would be difficult to exist.’
He plays Love Is Here To Stay by Gershwin for us.
Amanda comments that he didn’t read the music.
‘No, it’s too dark here in the station, but it’s inside me.’
As he walks away, he comments on ‘how genuine they were with their warmth’.
Michael is 76. His wife of 51 years, Viesha, is in aged care. He proudly produces a picture of her. We’ve done everything together, soul mates. They have 4 beautiful girls and their families.
He is lonely.
‘The house seems so utterly empty. Staring into darkness where there used to be light.’
‘I am so fortunate to have had my music. I can play any piano at any time. It helps.’
‘I love going to the aged care facility to play for my wife, to share with her a bit of what we’ve lost.’
He plays “Aeolian Harp” Étude, Op. 25, No. 1 by Chopin, with a photo of Viesha on the piano to remind him of what really matters. Passion and love fill the station.
‘The piano is an essential part of my life. It’s like breathing.’
Watching them, I realise this isn’t really about music.
It’s about attachment to life.
About the things that still pull a person forward.
Friendship. Practice. Beauty. Memory. Love.
Something waiting for you on the other side of the night.
The piano gives each of them more than something to do.
It gives them somewhere to place themselves.
A reason to enter the day.
And maybe that’s the deeper question I keep circling as I age:
Not simply how to stay fit and healthy.
But what keeps a person connected to being alive.
My favourite reads this week:
You don’t have a writing problem. You have a seeing problem. by Sandra Franks
Why the Wealthiest Suburbs Have the “Worst” Attention Spans by David Gillespie
I’ve Got It: The Case for Carrying Your Own Weight by Daria Diaz