In loving memory
I’m sitting in my living room, the sparseness somewhat jarring. An hour ago a truck rumbled off with our piano. Our closets are overflowing with other kinds of friends, books boxed suffocatingly “out of sight”, but the time finally came when we had to choose between them (and all the others scattered on every surface in the house), and this mammoth Lovely, who has languished in our living room virtually silent for over a year. I can’t play while Elijah is present (true, duets are possible, but E’s taste in sound is startlingly, jarringly different than my own), and I’m never here without him either in the room, or sleeping ten feet away.
So…not 48 hours ago I posted a picture on Craigslist, and within minutes had good as sold the thing. The buyer came hours later, paid for it, and arranged for movers to come the next day.
I’m shell-shocked, to be honest. I walked to the park when the buyer left, tearing up the whole way. What have I done? What have I done?
Al, the granddad there each day, was kind, and listened to my woe. We talked about instruments and music. He has a guittar he likes to play. I told him on my list of things to do before I die is learn to play the cello. But, mind you, I said, that diminishes nothing of my love for pianos.
I love pianos. To me they are like ancient trees; they soothe me, ground me. I started lessons at age 4, I think, and played my heart out daily until high school sports and a boyfriend took all my attention away. But I mean that part about my heart. Somehow, through all those years of practice, my heart got wound into all those strings. Maybe pressed into the pedals, the benches, the keys. And not just of only one piano. It’s all of them. The one that just got lugged down our steps walked with me through some very dark times. She gave and gave and gave when I had no words for what I was feeling–only notes.
I still have dreams of more composition, dreams of playing the blues, dreams of finishing the instrumentation for this song.
But…I have a toddler now, and I live in a paper-thin apartment, and even if there were no toddler involved, I would feel strange barging with music into all my neighbors’ homes uninvited.
So I’m sitting in my empty living room, imagining a wall full of books, trying to be happy that I get to see them all again.
As the truck drove off, and Elijah busied himself in the dust from where she stood, as I gazed nostalgically out the window and the smoke from the movers’ cigarettes wafted toward the sky, I thought, “Go well, dear friend. Go well.”
November 10th, 2006 at 1:05 pm
Oh Kristin, I’m sorry that you had to say goodbye to this friend of yours! It is an eerie thing for me, because sitting in our front room is a piano almost identical to the one you sold, with just slightly different carving on the legs. And it provides that same kind of solace for my sister when she plays, and for me when I’m there to hear.
Sympathy for your heart…and may you find solace in new and surprising ways, despite the loss of your piano.
November 11th, 2006 at 9:44 am
Thank you, Lori.
November 12th, 2006 at 9:46 pm
A very poignant story Kristin. I too have a longing to learn to play the cello, cellos have even been haunting my dreams lately and I am trying to listen to what this means for me living in a small condo with not a lot of space. I think the longing will have to sustain me for a while. Blessings, Christine
November 13th, 2006 at 9:55 am
Kristin, again you’ve gotten me off my duff and inspired me to more careful, actionable living. thank you. and i’m sorry, too, because i understand that weird hole when the piano’s gone.
i wrote some time ago (http://www.blackphoebe.com/hadashi/archives/2006/04/post_11.html) about my piano finally coming back to me after years of exile, and my absolute terror at trying to get to know it again. it’s been a bumpy return, but i’ve been trying… because of all the reasons you gave about hearts and music and pianos being part of you through joy & sorrow. your giving it up — for now — is hard, because it makes perfect practical sense while something inside of you misses it already.
so to sit shiva with you, so to speak, i’ve been listening to the Wailin Jennys for the last hour (another thank you), and promise you that today i will play my piano in memoriam of yours. i hope that’s not too silly… thanks for reminding me that i need to treasure it, use it, while i have this chance again.
November 13th, 2006 at 11:51 am
Christine, how fascinating! Maybe a cello will land on your doorstep one day soon, and you will know why it came, and also where it can sleep at night. I’ll wish for this to be so.
Hadashi, my heart is so warmed. That is about the not silliest thing I can think of. I’m all teared up. I’m going to go read your post.
November 15th, 2006 at 5:03 am
i keep coming back to this post, hoping you’ve posted something new, but now reading this again and again, i’m starting to feel like your piano was a shiny-blue-girl-bike type loss! i hope you’re feeling better…
November 15th, 2006 at 8:35 pm
It was that kind of loss, dear Jen. I need to post a picture of our new bookshelves, though, which we spent all of Sunday trying to put together in the middle of Elijah doing his darnedest to get at the tools and everything else possible while we were distracted. They are beautiful, and every night before bed, and every morning when I rise, I look at all those old friends perched on them, who’ve been boxed away for over 2 years now, and feel like maybe–and this is not totally for sure yet–the trade was worth it. I will feel better once we can find a used (and cheap) keyboard to buy, that I can use headphones with, and hear the echoes of our Lovely who is now in the home of a dear family who can give her voice the exercise it was so starved for here.
But yes, her absense does make think of your bike…
November 25th, 2006 at 3:38 pm
Kristin, I feel the grief of this sacrifice. May your shiny blue music find inspired new ways to come through the magnificent instrument of your life.