Today a miraculous thing happened: our family piano left the home. Through the front door, no less.
It had been much loved. It was originally my grandparents', and then the mama inherited it. My sweet cousin, who was an accordion-playing child star on radio in the 1930s, used to play it when she came to visit us. And she's really the only one who did any longer.
My siblings had piano lessons. I, the baby that saved the marriage and broke the pocketbook, did not. It would have been a good idea, though, because I loved the piano. I'd pick out melodies on it constantly (mostly commercials and game show themes). And when I threw a sheet over the top of it, it was my dollhouse / fort. I'd bring my Kiddles under there with me and play.
And long before I heard of "prepared piano", we used to toss poker chips into the strings.
Michael Feinstein once played it. He came to our house to buy a short-term insurance policy from my dad and asked to play the piano while he was there.
And I once asked Danny Goodwine (real name) to eat his lunch under it with me. This was the beginning of a long list of bizarre things that I considered romantic that boys and then men did not understand. Until mrguy, of course, who gets anything.
Anyhoo, the much-loved piano is going to my first cousin, once-removed. This cousin has an autistic son who has just discovered the piano. This cousin came to visit my mom a few weeks ago and was explaining that his son gravitates to a piano whenever he is near one. Mom asked him if he wanted it, and a match was made!!
I sent him the security code, a picture of where the key is hidden, and instructions to toss out Coco the neighbor cat if she appears. He let himself and the piano movers in, and Operation Baby Grand went off without a hitch.