Miriam Johnson was our piano teacher, and her three worst students were me and my brothers Denis and Michael. As we were more interested in sports than classical music, it was a challenge for Mom to ensure that daily practices were completed.

As noted in a previous column, Saturday morning’s lesson began with a mile walk to Miriam’s house on Spring Avenue in all types of weather.

January winter’s were tricky, regardless of how “bundled” you were for the journey. Inevitably our hands were fresh frozen when we reached the door of her home.

Therapy for hands included a regimen of running cold water onto your digits, followed by warm water then hot water. I’m not sure if extra water fees were added to our lesson charges before we “tickled the ivories.”