First time poster here, so please forgive any inadvertent newbie transgressions. I'm in a musical quandary, and could use some sage advice. I was a superb classical pianist as a kid, competitions and all that, and chucked it at age 15. Returned to it in my late forties. Had surgery for a bone spur in my hand this year, and was then diagnosed with an auto-immune disorder. The piano has become my sanctuary - I play for several hours most days, and it's one of the few things I can't get enough of (along with books, beagles, and Star Trek). But like Longfellow's girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead...when I am good, I am very very good. And when I am bad, I am HORRID. There are days when it feels as if I have a kind of fleeting dyslexia - I clearly see and acknowledge that the note in the music I'm reading is a B flat, but am stubbornly playing an A in the steadfast belief that it is, in fact, a B flat (or will become one of I am persistent enough). Less frequently, I have trouble reading certain notes on the page. The signal is getting to my brain correctly, but the information seems to be temporarily misfiled. And on other days the brain is firing on all cylinders, but my fingers are clumsy, sliding off flats or hitting two notes at the same time. Two days of each month I have access to my childhood piano - a magnificent Bosendorfer grand. Today is one of those days, and I can't play.
Yesterday, I played for 3 or 4 hours, and I was spot-on.) While it is possible these issues have been exacerbated by my illness (or the fact that I'm 50), I can recall having days like this as a child pianist as well. And whatever the primary cause, physical or psychological, it causes me great distress. Is this something other amateur pianists experience? Does anyone have suggestions for things I can do when this problem manifests - simple and slow scales, or a beginners piece, (or maybe an inflatable Wilhelm Kempff who can perch on the piano and fix me with his inscrutable gaze)? I would be deeply appreciative of advice (or simple commiseration), and armchair psychiatrists are welcome to weigh in, since I'm all too aware that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
Bosendorfer Blues