I was picking up the clan's mail yesterday at the Social Club (yes, the sign over the door seems to indicate to the rest of the world that the building is indeed the Post Office, but in a rural town with no home delivery, it is the hub of the community) and I ran into my piano teacher. This woman is one of the adults who shepherded me through those awkward adolescent years with deep patience and understanding (besides playing for her, I remember talking non-stop). I went to her house every Thursday afternoon with my sister. We both had a half hour lesson and while I was waiting, I got to read her collection of The New Yorker and look at all the cool things on her shelves that she had picked up on her world travels.
We had a nice chat and she told me about an article she wrote about Egon Petri, the piano teacher who taught her teacher.