Mad Rush

The piano has been part of my life since my memory begins. The first piano I probably ever saw was my grandparents old, tuneless, upright, with framed pictures on top and two candlesticks protruding from the front. My aunt used to play Nancy Griffith songs on it, and these are the first songs I remember knowing, before nursery rhymes.
When I first began learning piano, i had a teacher called Sr. Cecelia, who was about 90, had hairy warts on her chin, and used to rap my knuckles with a ruler. I despised going to the lessons, but understand their value now.
When Sr. Cecelia moved to a different convent, I had to find a new teacher. The new teacher was a middle-aged single man, who lived with his parents and was highly regarded in the Presbyterian church. He had a little house of 3 rooms beside his parents house for teaching his piano in, and I always imagined this little yellow house as being his island, his getaway from the judgment of the the community, but also his link to the community, his source of information from his students. This man would be lost without the piano.
For the past three years, I have neglected to play the piano, and this is a massive regret of mine. There's no feeling like the feeling of being close to, and understanding a musical instrument. I hope i can get this back, and keep it, but i know I've lost a lot of time.