Random Act of Gratitude #39: A Piano

In "the old country", my father was a piano tuner / technician and since arriving in Canada, he's kept his hand in it from time to time.

Several years ago, he was offered an old beater of a piano from some place or other and it spent the next couple of years in my parents' basement, often in pieces, as he gradually repaired, rebuilt, and refinished it. When it was finally fixed up -- and my mother was becoming more vocal in insisting that it leave their home -- they gave it to me. At the time, I was living in a small upstairs apartment in a duplex, so it lived in the front entranceway at the bottom of the stairs (yes, in the worst place possible for a piano). Although my landlady and landlord said time and again that they didn't mind if I played it, I seldom did, unless I was quite certain that they were not home. (And occasionally I was wrong about that, and I'd find myself with an audience ... leading me to suddenly blush and close it up.)

When I moved into my current house, I was thrilled to have proper space for the piano and to feel like I could play it at will.

Now, I'm no great piano player by ANY stretch of the imagination, but I do enjoy playing and it's come in very handy when writing music (usually for a school production) alone or with Betsy. There's something very therapeutic, also, about playing something familiar or with just improvising something or other that will never be played again.

Thanks, dad o' mine!