I have almost always had one sort of piano or another. I grew up with a lovely old upright piano that was definitely a he. He bullied me through years of piano lessons as a child and led family sing-a-longs all through my childhood. There followed a few more pianos, a loaner, a rental and finally an electric keyboard. It was a lovely keyboard and it helped me to entertain my children during the most terrifying moments of their young lives but in June of 1991, I had to leave my keyboard (and everything else we owned) to flee an erupting volcano.
Upon arriving at our new base in Colorado Springs, it became clear that I was struggling to deal with the events that had unfolded. Even though we needed to replace everything we owned and money was tight, my brilliant and inspired husband decided that I needed...can I strongly emphasize NEEDED here?... a piano to play, and so we went to a music store in search of my latest musical companion. Five minutes in the new piano section convinced us that we were in the wrong place and we quickly made our way to the back of the store where they kept the 'previously loved ' pianos. As we wandered through spinets and uprights in various stages of decomposition, I spotted her; the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A small but lovely, petite baby grand. She had lovely scroll work and tarnished brass accents and her wood was warn to a soft and gentle hue. I didn't care or even really notice that her varnish was old and crackled, or that her keys were yellowing. She drew me to her with her calm and quiet elegance. I sat to play her and her tone was like a gentle and loving grandmother. Warm, rich notes versus the brighter, harsher tones of a newer piano floated from her. Her voice, like mine, had a warm, rich alto quality. I had a very Touch Of the Masters Hand moment. The salesman told us that she was build in 1928. She was no Steinway...born on the other side of the tracks you might say, but I loved her immediately and asked how much she cost. I cringed at the figure, but Derek didn't flinch.
Like a woman expecting a baby I awaited her arrival, agonizing over exactly where I should put her, organizing the rest of the room around her needs. The day she arrived at the house all of my stress and all my woes faded away as I spent the rest of the day pouring out months of anxiety onto her accepting keys.
When I am sad, I play...and sing. When I am happy, I play...and sing. When I am angry, I play...and sing. You get the idea. Derek has learned to read the inner monologue hidden within my song choices. If I am playing when he walks through the front door (and I often am), he can read my mood based on what I am playing. Jazz means I'm feeling melancholy or maybe just quiet, anything from the eighties means he's gonna get lucky and Chopin means he'd probably better just turn around and leave while he still can. My beloved piano helps me express myself. She led me gently through PTSD after the evacuation; she has celebrated holidays with my family and let my daughters musical creativity unfold as she began writing music. She helped me to discover my sons voice and now she teaches my grandchildren about music. Several years ago, when I developed profound laryngitis and couldn't speak for almost six months, she consoled and comforted me and let me pour out my grief onto her sturdy frame as I contemplated whether I would ever be able to sing again.
Now she is getting so much older. She was badly injured when a careless mover ripped a hinge half off of her, a wound that could not be repaired, so now she mustn't sing with her top up. Her strings are wearing as are her hammers, but she still sounds beautiful and just as she has watched over and cared for me all these years, I try to take care of her. A recent paint job in the library necessitated moving her and the exertion left her so horribly out of tune that even the dog complained (even Derek was a little out of tune after moving her all by himself) it was so bad that I had to leave her alone for a while until the piano tuner could make it out. He came and he confirmed that this venerable old lady was showing her age, but he has been taking care of her for fifteen years and I trust him to continue to her going. She is tuned now and once again sings beautifully for me. I can only say that I love her dearly and appreciate the tender care and companionship she has given me over the years and I hope that we will still have many more years together.
