…and, on another Note…

This is for posterity. This is for My Children when they decide to sell my piano at the garage sale…for free. After I’m dead. I hope.  This is, also,  to let My Children know that “No,  I did not nor do I love My Piano more than I love them, My Children”  and…since they aren‘t here…they can’t see my fingers crossed, and hidden behind my back.  My Reader, still The Putz, will more than likely tell them I’ve lied. Again.

You’ve heard this before since it accompanies the I walked 400 miles to school in 90 feet of snow daily for one thousand years story, but…I have,  actually, played piano since I was three.

Which means?

Nothing to My Reader. However,  to me,  this is where the very personal part begins to play…

What it means to me is this:  I’ve taken lessons, practiced, accompanied others, dueted many, given lessons, recitaled myself into nervous paralysis, practiced some more, dusted key boards,  polished, practiced again and again, played beautiful music  and…hauled an enormous piece of furniture up and down the west coast and half-way around the world and back.

That’s  one huge and never ending Mayflower moving van bill.

My last move resulted in My Children throwing away the Where Ma’am Lives Now page in their address diaries…and also asking to be dis-inherited.

Now you see why I lie to them….

The Piano. MY piano…is 100 years old. Each time it moves it has to be tuned. My current piano tuner is, by the way, completely normal. I’ve had some real doozie-crazies in my house playing with keys and tuning strings, and finding Mark was…well…refreshing. When it comes to piano tuners I do believe “normal” is rare but very, very  good.

Mark suggested  after the “first-after-the-move-tuning“, he return in several weeks and give My Piano a good cleaning. Probably hadn’t been done in a while…I’m guessing forty years or more…so it sounded like a good idea.

While cleaning, Mark found a hidden signature on the bass-clef A Key, at the very end of the key board. It was signed Marshall, H. and dated Sept. 1912…which after reading THE PIANO SHOP ON THE LEFT BANK by Thad Carhart, is not unusual or rare, especially in small piano-making workshops. My piano came from  a small family owned piano workshop originally located in Yorkshire, England.  It was brought to America on a steam ship, was owned by one family, and passed down through three generations. It still  has a sweet-mellow tone, and a light key touch.

My Piano now has my name “autographed” on the bass-clef A Key right next to Marshall, H. and the date 2012.   

My Piano is one hundred years old.

It is mine and it is…home.

Piano at Home.