Piano Musings

Day 211…

My brother tells me we’ve sold the piano.  One of the last big items in the estate sale.  It was a Kimball upright, not expected to bring much…except some interesting memories.

This was the piano that was bought so I (and my brothers) could take lessons.  My brothers later chose guitars, but that’s another story.

It sat in the dining room, just off the kitchen, and I learned early on that if I practiced the piano while Mother was fixing dinner, I didn’t have to set the table.   I didn’t like to practice, but it kept me from having to help my mother in the kitchen.  I was obviously fighting our connection early on.

But the piano wasn’t always a boundary between my mother and me.  Sitting on the bench together, she taught me how to read music, how to hear thirds and fifths.  Working our way through the Cokesbury Hymnal, I learned to sing alto to her soprano.  Harmony.  My mother taught me harmony.  Oh, I only just now get it.

Piano lessons stopped in junior high when my teacher moved away, until in high school we found a teacher who moved me away from Czerny exercises and let me play music I liked.  Today, decades later, it would take a lot of practice to once again say I could play the piano. 

Music was important in my family.  My brothers have made their livings playing in bands.  My precious son was head chorister in the city’s boychoir.  And this afternoon my niece will dance in the ballet, Aladdin

I hope our little piano is going to a home that will appreciate it.  It has much to offer.

Writing topic:  An object from my childhood

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