Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Sing like you think no one's listening


That's me, in August of 2008, playing my piano for the first time. My sister Katie moved into a house that was 1 part structure and 2 parts garbage. In the midst of the wasteland was this beauty. An old, beat up, upright Packard with a couple of dead keys.

I remember going to her house for a hair cut and seeing it out in the garage. I ran my fingers along the keys and was surprised to hear a pretty solid, reasonably in-tune sound. She was going to trash it, I was a broke college student with no qualms about appearance, and an arrangement was formed.


It's first home with me was the cold, unfinished basement of the bunker. When we signed the lease for the house we had lofty goals for that basement. We got the piano down there (down about 15 steps with a break into the basement, killer) set up a drum set. Scavenged an old beat up billiards table and tied up a hammock. We thought we'd party down there all the time but in the cold long winter of Logan we didn't end up using it much. For me, it was the piano room. I would sit on an overturned white 5-gallon bucket and go freaking crazy. The guys upstairs had to deal with it, but I figured we were buffered enough from the neighbors.


Somehow, we managed to get it out of that basement. Part of me figured I'd just leave it down there for whoever rented the house after us but my friends and family convinced me that I didn't want to bid farewell just yet. We made our way over to Brooklane in May of 2009 where we set the piano up in the main living area. I tried to put it as far away from bedrooms as possible but I have no doubt that there were plenty of times when my neighbors (to both sides and directly above) wished I would just die. I tried to be considerate. I wouldn't play before 11:00 a.m. or after 10:00 p.m. Still, I broke those rules and at least once my upstairs neighbor started pounding on the floor.

Two year's went by and 9 roommates. Each rotation chipped away at my original group until the piano and I were the lone survivors in BL4. I remember when this school year started feeling like a stranger in my own apartment. Partly due to the Statesman and partly not I spent less and less time at home, but as always after a long day, bad day, good day, day, I would come in and spend an hour on the keys.

That's me, on April 30 2011, playing my piano for the last time. We loaded it into the truck, I played Keane's "Somewhere only we Know" and then we headed up to Kellyn's apartment to drop it off at its new home. I feel good about giving it to Kellyn and Brad. She's my features editor (yes, I'm speaking in present tense because MY staff will never die ;->) and because she's married, the piano will have a good male presence in the home.


It was time for us to go our separate ways. I'll get a real job, and a real piano. As it for it, I feel good knowing that it'll stay in the hands of broke college students.

2 comments:

  1. I remember taking those pictures when we picked that up. Makes me wax a little nostalgic. I'll be in town Friday. I'll make sure I give you a call. Peace man. It's the end of an era!

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  2. Nice post. I do so get attached to inanimate objects- and a piano...! It's been a good friend. Maybe someday... :)

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