THE SURGERY

This story started 60 years ago this fall when my mother decided I should have piano lessons. To make this possible, I needed a piano. She was a full-time homemaker, but she went to work at the local cannery for a season to earn the money for a piano. What a great sacrifice that was. I was a latch-key child for a short time, and I didn't particularly like it. I also didn't like to practise and it shows now by the way I play. But I am so thankful for what she did and the opportunity to learn to do something that (if no one is listening) I still enjoy doing.

After being played by any number of children and being moved 25 times (sometimes on its side) in 60 years and being tuned only twice, this piano was still holding its own. But this last move (the 26th) and two years in storage took its toll. So I finally had it tuned yesterday. He opened it up and examined the innards, performed the surgery, pronounced it healed, and was amazed that it didn't need way more work considering its history. Then he played it; it has never sounded so good...mainly because someone had some real talent.


So here it is in all its glory, still sentimental junk, but I have never really had the desire to replace it. When I die you may use it for firewood or better yet, give it to some poor child who would like to learn to play the piano and has a good place to hide it from the rest of the furniture.