An Ode To The Busted Piano
There was a time when play, song, and sound,
The piano, and every ordinary sight
To me did seem
Threaded in angelic light.
To the fragrance of dust in a dream,
It is not now as it had been before
when I was a child
Plunking on the keys in cream,
Sit upon the silent musician
as dust to dust.
(completely ripped off from Wordsworth)
These are the wheel marks from the busted piano.
And this was the place in which the busted piano had sat for the past 7 years.
I am sitting at my desk right now, and I have watched a few women taking their morning walks…and play the piano a little as they pass by. All the kids had to play a few keys when they discovered it was outside, almost as if to poke it to see if it was actually dead.
To say we have all loved this piano is true.
I grew up playing imaginary songs on this piano, and my kids have done the same. We have done a few lessons on it, but it was so out of tune, the songs don’t sound right at all.
There is something magical about a piano. Even if it is busted.
Unfortunately, we were unable to rehome this piano.
I have spent 4 months calling music stores, putting it on Craigslist, posting ads in the classifieds in our local newspaper, offering it on Facebook and to homeschooling groups. A few families have come over to look at it, but there are some sticky keys and the pedals don’t work. My last effort was to contact the local music store and see what advice they had for me.
They said it was just a dead piano, and it was time to put it out to pasture.
It was a normal thing, and there was nothing we could do to save it. Dead pianos get thrown away all the time, and it was okay to let it go. We loved it for as long as we had it, and it lived a good long life.
It was my grandmother’s piano, and it lived in my grandparent’s house. As far as I understand, it came down from Saskatchuan, Canada with them when they immigrated to LosAngeles. There it sat, and I believe my grandmother played hymns on it when she was a Sunday School teacher at her Presbyterian church. I, however, have never seen anyone actually play songs on it.
After my grandparents died, I was already living on my own, and I took the family piano.
Since then, it has gone everywhere I have gone.
But now that we are moving out of state, it is time to let my good friend go.
We have had good times together, and she has held books, picture frames and toys valiantly during her time with us.
So, with the fondest of memories, we set her out this morning to her resting place, graced with the angelic gift of silence.
And I can speak of this with lucid emotion…until this happened.
And then I completely lost it and started bawling on my front porch.
Even when you have tried every avenue possible, and have tried to resurrect its life … watching a good friend go is still a heart wrenching thing to witness.
But she was worth every year we had her.