Snow swirls around the streets of Leningrad, Russia. Pedestrians pull winter coats tighter around themselves. Car lights shine through the flurries. In one large, multi-story building, a window on the corner of the building is lit. Inside the room, frost decorates the window panes. The only occupant – a young man, with a spark of life in his blue eyes – turns out music, gorgeous music, on the upright piano against the wall. He wears a heavy overcoat and plays with a pair of medium-weight, knit gloves – for his dormitory room has no heat. At this point in the narrative, the music teacher jerks his enraptured student back into the present – modern Edmonton, a warm and very comfortable music studio, and the two Yamaha baby grands sitting side by side – with this question: “ Have you ever practiced with gloves on?” Ahh . . . no, I hadn’t. My house always had heat?! My music teacher, undeterred by my blank look (w...
