(no subject)

[truepenny]

Thank you, everyone, for your sympathy re: the cat. It's not, of course, the same as having to help a human loved one through the process of dying, but it has its own set of griefs (which ursulav talks about very well here). It's cancer of the jaw, so he's having more and more trouble eating, but he's getting the good junk and doesn't seem to be in any particular pain yet. We're hoping to keep that the state of affairs for as long as possible.

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I'm glad people are enjoying the article, too--and glad to know that I'm not coming across as a complete lunatic. Always a comforting feeling.

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500 words yesterday on Kekropia. More words today, plus working out the scene-order of the chapter. It's very weird to keep realizing that this is the second to last chapter, that I'm really very close to being done. Much of my brain is suspicious that this is a trap.

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So, I've fallen in love. With a piano.


I took piano lessons for ten years, from the age of seven to the age of seventeen. By the time I graduated from high school, I was a competent technical pianist (no more than competent, mind, but I could play some fairly challenging pieces and play them well), quite resigned to the fact that there is not a single spark of musical originality in my soul. I've never composed a tune, I can't improvise--hell, I can't even play by ear. Must have sheet music, or the music, she does not go.

But I played well enough to please myself--well enough to fight my way through the Maple Leaf Rag, which may be one of my favorite pieces of playing music in the entire world. And then I went to college, and lost easy access to a properly tuned piano (can't play by ear, but my sense of pitch is pretty good--again, not more than good, but enough to find it acutely unpleasant to play an out-of-tune piano), and, well, here it is mumblecough years later, and I haven't played, even occasionally, since I moved to my current state of residence.

New paragraph.

When I started playing, the piano we had was an old upright grand that probably would have been quite valuable if it hadn't been that the soundboard was cracked--meaning that the piano stayed in tune for roughly five minutes after the piano tuner left the house, and from there on it was all downhill. Before I started high school, my parents made a bargain with me: if they bought a new piano, I would keep taking lessons through graduation. I said yes, got a nice new piano (I've never been able to remember the manufacturer's name), and was much much happier. It wasn't as nice as my piano teacher's Baldwin, but it was so much better than what I had.

We've been talking for years about what to do with that piano, and what has finally happened is that my parents are selling it (to someone whose child is in the same position I was in, wanting to play and having nothing but a crap instrument to play on), and the money is going toward (a.) moving some furniture up here and (b.) getting me a piano.

Happily, there is a local store that sells both new and used pianos and makes a specialty of restoring pianos that need it. So this weekend Mirrorthaw and I went on an investigative trip to find out what our options were. And I fell in love with a Baldwin baby grand. Don't know the exact age, but it was old enough that its keys were genuine (yellowing) ivory. Fiddleback mahogany case. Wonderful sound, even with the dampers broken and some of the keys inoperative. They had it priced at a point that we could afford it, given the money from my old piano, a D&A check and some judicious budgeting, so in the foolish optimism of my heart, I asked about what it needed done.

The lovely gentleman who was seducing helping us went away to talk to his boss. Came back, said, Actually, we want to restore it properly rather than selling it as-is. When we're done, it will go for X [X being the current ticket price times 10].

And I thought, Well, at least I know I have impeccable taste.

The sales rep reassured me that they do get baby grands that are in the price range we can afford, so I'll be checking back with that store periodically, hoping to strike gold. But I shall cherish the memory of that Baldwin.

I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.

Comments

[larryhammer]

Your piano story sounds remarkably like mine, except that my mother still plays it and I have the consolation of an electronic keyboard [Bad username or site: janni: @ livejournal.com] bought when she started voice lessons. Also, I've been playing recorders and ocarinas and pennywhistles to keep the ear in practice.

I'm still trying to decide on whether my next instrument should be a good tenor recorder or an accordian.

---L.

[larryhammer]

Where Badusername = janni

[tassie-gal.livejournal.com]

Sounds like my story....except my mother now is having piano lessons on my piano, and I dont have space for the piano I lust after (baby grand, french walnut).