Dear Beloved Piano

Dear Beloved Piano,

You weren’t my first love, but I wish you had been. No problems with jealousy. My first love was a piano in Mom and Dad’s basement, an old upright that took my childlike dreams and sang them to no one, just between you and me. There were others before you. Each one has held a part of my life within its vibrations:

teaching lessons morning and nights

practicing for church jobs

practicing for college music classes

practicing for my beloved deceased teacher, Carl

practicing when joyous

practicing when in doubt

practicing when sorrowful

practicing when seeking…many hour have I shared with my pianos.

But you, dear bright shiny black lacquered Boston baby grand, you are the delight of my life. We have moved many times in recent years. You always get retuned into the environment with no complaints, even the time the movers dropped you. I like how you fit within this pleasant home, near the kitchen, near the living area, peering out the front window. 

We share memories as our spirits synchronize  with Chopin, Brahms, Lamb and Joplin; even lesser-known Albritton resonates from your impeccable interior. And how you patiently accept my mistakes and need for better interpretations. Oh, yes, there is an ethereal element to your mechanical mysteries and I, for one, want to always stay in tune with your needs.

Musically yours,

J