In 1910 my mother unaccountably commenced giving me piano lessons herself, teaching me what little she had already learned. Why and however she came to do this I am totally at loss to say. Mother is the most unpredictable person in the world, still all over her actions have ever seemed to have a deep and unreasoned logic, fundamentally sound. In any case I now thrilled to the learning of how to read real printed notes, to do that thing which I had so desperately wanted to do when I was but three and a half years old. That, however, was now an eon away; I was now ten years old.
Mother nevertheless stipulated that under no conditions was I to practice more than one hour a day – a obviously a very difficult condition. I now practiced from seven to eight every evening. I would have stayed glued to the piano all day had my school work and my mother permitted me to do so.