The Piano of My Life

I walked into my mother’s living room Monday after work in a big hurry to print an article for a meeting and started to cry. It was gone. She finally did it. Without a final warning, a last caress, a last good play, a last goodbye, it was gone….  My piano.

My Dad rescued that piano from a bar in small paper mill town in 1964.  He rebuilt it from the inside out.  It had all the scars of bar life, burns, bangs and held many a story silent. My three older brothers and I all took piano lessons using this piano for practice. But I spent the most time on this piano. We were the best of friends and at times it was my worst critic.

I started lessons when I was 4 or 5  and continued to the age of 18.  At times I begged my parents to quit, they insisted I continued.  I trudged on.  The piano endured my discontent.  It stood firm through every emotion I threw at it:  joy, sorrow, anger, love and melancholy.

When I went away to college, I would go to the practice rooms and pound away on the pianos.  It felt like I was cheating on a boyfriend and I couldn’t wait to go home, back to MY piano; its key action so familiar, its sound so familiar.   Nothing could ever replace it.

When I married and moved, I tried to take the piano with me but its huge size was an issue. The cost of moving it multiple times made it clear the piano needed to stay at my parents.  The piano became difficult to tune and it was discovered that the sound board needed an expensive repair job. My parents bought a newer electronic console piano for the family of  musicians.  The other piano sat quietly in the corner holding the grandchildren’s graduation pictures.  Every now and then I would play it a little; Its mournful sound crying out, as if to say goodbye.

This past August, I tried to talk my son and his wife into taking the piano and putting a little work into it. “Keep it in the family” I pleaded.  I thought I was starting to really sell them on the idea.  I just wasn’t fast enough to beat my mother to the punch.

The loss of my piano means a piece of me is missing.  It was a huge part of my life. It was the creation of my love and understanding of music.  That piano is reason, my ears perk up every time I hear an real instrument playing or an instrument being tuned. I am drawn to the sounds of instruments being played on the streets of my small town. I will stop walking, turn my head and turn toward the music in hope of finding the musician, wanting to experience it first hand.   That piano made me a musician.

 

Good bye Piano. I hope whoever has you, repairs you, loves you like I did and becomes a lover of music as I always will be.

(pic from 1975, the cat is Cat, who thought sleeping on the piano would keep things quiet.)

Encouraging our Women

Yesterday afternoon it was the bicycle, last week it was the voice during a presentation.  It is all about confidence, confidence building in women. In particular the confidence of my daughters, ages 8 and 28 (about to turn 29).

Exasperated with my youngest child’s frustration level, I turned and head toward the house, the dog yawned, I leaned down, cupped her tiny face in my cold hands and said “I agree, I totally agree.”  I went back to my patio cleaning chore and thought about how many hours I have spent in the past month encouraging these young women, instilling confidence, “You can do this.”  “You did so well today”  “You’re the best in the office.” 

The age span between my girls is huge, 21 years and yet they both still need Coach to stand on the side lines and cheer them on.  Why?  I ask myself and the broom… why?

My boys don’t seem to need it as much. In fact when it is offered, most often the response is a “I know Mom” with an air of I-already-know-this swirling under their breath.  Growing up they didn’t need much encouragement to try new physical activities. They head for task put in front of them full speed, confidence high, no “what ifs”.

Sometimes it’s their sheer physical strength that leads confidently into the task.  I have to concede that men are physically stronger, usually taller than woman by their genetics.  But there is something more.  They are treated differently from day one. By their fathers, teachers, coaches, society in general and then there is this boy’s club code.  Is it a secret club? (I only suspect)  I know if I ask my sons will just shake their heads, laugh at me and leave the room.  But I do wonder.   ????

Women are still trying to play catch up, break to code, make new rules.  Everywhere we go.  My youngest daughter is on a co-ed soccer team, Taller than any of the boys, yet holds back to give the little boys a chance to kick the ball.  “Stop” I tell her. “It’s your Ball” My Oldest Daughter is taking the lead on a huge project at work but worries that her voice is too much like a little girls.  “Talk to them like you talk to me when you are mad” I tell her.   Be firm and decisive like any boy/ man, something I tell both girls. 

And there you have it.  I am encouraging my girls to fight their way into the boys club, continue to make progress and show the world that we are all people no matter our gender.  Education and Encouragement for  all Women. 

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month:  Remind all Women to get their Mammograms.  If they cannot afford Mammograms they should go to their local Health Departments where programs are available to assist them.   BE PART OF THE CURE!