I'm still settling in after returning from a vacation, but I didn't want to let my July 27 Spotlight column get away without mentioning it here. I wrote about a longtime Fresno piano teacher named Velda V. Boutte, who died last year and is now being honored by piano scholarships in her name through the Fresno County Branch of the Music Teachers Association of California.

My column was appreciated by several readers. One named Donna writes:

Just wanted to thank you for your wonderful article on Ms. Boutte. I never had the privilege of knowing Ms. Boutte, but it 'touched a chord' in my heart, perhaps more than some readers, as my mom was another of those one-in-a-million, unbelievabley gifted, musicians (pianist/organist) whose great joy, like Ms. Butte, was helping others be their best, whether through teaching, rehearsing, arranging, or providing the perfect accompaniment to beginners and celebrities alike. Too infrequently, I think, are these treasured people honored beyond the circles of those who knew and loved them. Your lovely article shined a deserving and sweet light on Ms. Butte's generous life. By bringing attention to the MTAC Foundation, I'm grateful, too, that you've given those of us who wish we had known her a way to perpetuate her passion.

On the jump: my own piano teacher memories, plus more reader comments.

A reader named Carol writes:

Just wanted you to know how wonderful I think your article is regarding Velda Boutte and the new scholarships in her honor. She deserved every bit of what you said and you did a great job!

Another reader named Joe left this phone message for me:

I wanted to comment on how much I enjoyed your article on Mrs. Boutte, the piano teacher. I don't play any instrument myself, but after reading the article, I kind of wish I had gotten into it when I was younger. I can tell you wrote the article with a lot of love and feeling for what she did as a person and as a teacher.

It's interesting -- I walk past a house in my neighborhood occasionally, and once and a while I'll hear piano music -- it's just a little house, kind of a nondescript little place -- and I'll hear music coming out the window -- either the lady either practicing herself or having students over, because I see people dropping kids off. There's something magical about it.

Donald's memories: I took lessons from a kindly, grandmotherly woman named Mrs. Shepherd. She lived up the street from me, and she gave lessons in a little studio off her living room. I remember, and I'm not sure why, that she had a sliding-glass window that looked out on her rural backyard, and she'd affixed little stickers at kid-eye level to make sure that no one accidentally walked through it. (I think I developed a mild fear of sliding-glass doors that has continued to this day.)

Every week I'd scamper up the hill to her house, slip through the front door and settle in front of her upright piano for a half-hour lesson. I remember starting at the very beginning: playing "motorboat, motorboat, putt-putt-putt" on Middle C. And what was the name of that brightly colored series of beginning piano-lesson books that it seemed like everyone used? For years, I made that weekly journey as I graduated to bigger and better things: scales, sharps and flats, minor keys, and on to Mozart, Bach and Beethoven. Every year, Mrs. Shepherd had a recital for her students at the Lutheran Church, and I remember my little knees practically quaking as I was forced to overcome my anxiety about performing in public. It was good for me, I'm sure: I got more comfortable over time.

Was I destined to be a concert pianist? Not quite. Like most kids, I resisted practicing, and I remember putting the kitchen timer on the edge of our piano and sometimes gritting my teeth through all 30 minutes of forced practice.

Looking back, I was thankful for all that work, however. Music became a big part of life, whether it was piano, playing the trombone (which I did from sixth grade through college) and choral singing. Being able to read music is a great joy (and privilege), and it was worth every minute of practice, even during those reluctant years. I am a firm believer in the cultural significance of the amateur musician. (It's along the same lines of why I love community theater.) One of the drawbacks of modern technology is that it makes "perfect" music so accessible, whether through recordings, TV, online or live concerts. It turns you into a perpetual audience member. There's nothing wrong with professional music, of course, and it can be a beautiful and inspiring experience, but nothing beats actually making music yourself. For centuries, piano lessons have given budding musicians a firm grounding and turned them into music appreciators for the rest of their lives.

That's why I've always been grateful to the army of piano teachers who add a little sparkle to daily existence. Whether it was Mrs. Boutte or Mrs. Shepherd, they can make a big difference in people's lives.