This winter break I found myself reflecting on two hobbies of mine that I had been missing: writing and playing piano. I took out an English textbook I “accidentally” forgot to return (I’m sorry, Mrs. McKenna), and one of the prompts was to write a descriptive essay about one of your favorite teachers. I immediately thought of my dear piano teacher, Christine Leandri, but before I got to writing it I went through Lizzie’s notebook and sat down to play “Demons” which had been sitting on our piano. Thankfully—to a degree—I’ve still got it! It was a lot of fun to begin retraining my brain to read music. I eventually pulled out some Christmas carols as well, remembering how much my parents loved hearing Lizzie and I play during the holiday season. Later that I sat by the fire with my mom and wrote this essay about Mrs. Leandri. As a tribute to her, I wanted to share it on here; the world deserves to hear a story of how long the love a teacher shows her students’ lives on long after their final lessons with her.

I was nervous. Two failed piano teachers down, and I was just about to enter my first lesson with Mrs. Leandri. After painstaking sessions practicing to a metronome at a music school and sitting on a needlepoint embroidered bench that stunk of age at piano teacher #2’s house, I was prepared to give one last go at the instrument I loved. 

To my immediate relief, as I set foot into Mrs. Leandri’s studio, one critical conclusion became clear: piano teacher #3 is fun! I watched as she waved me in with a smile and beckoned me to the adjacent waiting room. My eyes widened. “Wow. That is a lot of movies,” I thought to myself. I gazed around the room, surverying the welcoming, plush couch and shelves upon shelves of DVDs lining the walls. I made a note to myself, “get to piano early.” My family chronically runs about 10 minutes late, so any incentive to be somewhere not only on time, but also early is noteworthy. Engrossed in one excited thought after another, I was snapped back into reality when Mrs. Leandri opened the door, calling, “Princess Fiona, I’m ready for ya! C‘mon in.” 

She helped me get situated, making sure I knew how to settle myself on the bench properly. “Place your hands on the keys, but pretend there’s tennis balls under them, holding your palms up,” she instructed. “Yes, just like that,” she applauded. 

For the next thirty minutes, I carefully listened to her gentle commands. I watched as she began decorating the black composition notebook I brought with me. She added a few stickers to the cover, explaining that, with time, my notebook would be decked out with stickers sourced by her steadily stocked collection. I smiled at her, my bubbly blonde new piano teacher, and said, “I can’t wait.” 

For the next nine years, Mrs. Leandri and I met weekly, give or take a week here or there. I grew a lot in those 9 years, certainly physically at least, but she never seemed to age. Her bright blonde hair styled with a gentle wave at the end to frame her face and wide, pearly-white smile remained constant, as well as her obsession with the movie Madagascar, specially the character King Julian. Princess Fiona I stayed, as did she remain fun. 

During the nine years I spent as her student, a lot in my life changed. Mrs. Leandri outlasted 3 au pairs and 3 schools; her studio served as a haven while my family grappled with my little brother’s diagnosis with Autism. 

Since our split— a difficult farewell as I entered high school— I hadn’t practiced piano in quite some time. This Christmas Break, however, as I returned home from my sophomore Fall semester of college, I found myself drawn back to the black and ivory keys of my family’s Steinbeck—which is actually our neighbors and the greatest gift the Lacey’s could’ve given us—getting back to the basics. As I began reading the music, I heard Mrs. Leandri’s voice, explaining to me how to read the notes. “Elvis’s Guitar Broke Down Friday.” And, “Great Big Dogs Fight Animals.” And, I saw in my mind images of the decadent sticker-covered pages of my piano notebook, with the acronym F.A.C.E. and words, “great job today, Princess Fiona!” I heard her as I held my notes, whispering “1, 2” or “hold it.” 

There I was, fourteen years later, finding my way to piano teacher #4, myself, re-learning and remembering the words of my legendary piano teacher #3, Mrs. Leandri.

P.S. I shared this essay with Mrs. Leandri just before Christmas. I wanted to let her be touched by how she touched my heart, and she managed to squeeze me in for a reunion lesson. Returning to the studio with her years later and tuning out from the world for an hour to play music and laugh with her put me right in the Christmas spirit! She asked me to sign this story so that she could frame it in her studio. She was ecstatic to have imparted a love for playing the piano in her student’s heart; I was honored to have my words of gratitude immortalized on the walls of picture frames I used to study weekly. If you’re looking to feel the love this holiday season, go and give some away. It always finds its way back to us.

With love, Fi