Rachel is teaching cello to a peanut. The pint-sized girl has to sit on a doll’s chair just to make it possible for her feet to brush the floor. She has the smallest cello available, but when she lugs it through the house (she insists on being the one to carry it) it’s reminiscent of an ant hauling on its back, a dead moth 20 times its size. Every hot day last week the little pack of peanuts practiced her heart out—according to her mother—because she has such a kind, sensitive, gentle and understanding teacher. There’s that, I agree, and the little girl definitely has grit.
