Over the years, it has sat there in the same spot. The house would fill with music as the lifeless piano came alive with melody. Grandpa was in his suit, with the smell of Old Spice drifting past, and Grandma was in her Sunday dress; sometimes, she even wore a corsage for special occasions. Dad would always be ready first and sit at the old piano to play while everyone finished. The house would fill with beautiful music as the morning progressed.
Trips South during the summer were always met with hot weather, family gatherings, and cramped quarters around the piano. I can still see my Aunt Betty’s smiling face as the family would all filter into the dining room while Dad and my great Aunt would play one Gospel song after the next. My dad learned much from my Aunt Betty. He took lessons from school, but it was after church with my aunt and others that had such an impact.
Music would float through the house as easily, as the kids would run in and out. Many of my family are musically inclined. Listening to them all still gives such heartwarming pleasure. Standing to sing hymns that I heard as a girl beside my Grandpa and Grandma brings a kind of warmth that not even cold weather can penetrate.
NOW AVAILABLE!
LOOK FOR THESE ON AMAZON OR ORDER PERSONALLY FROM ME (signed and shipped)
The piano has taken its new place in the front sitting room, where no one sat. When the house was built, it was designed for a piano, but no owner ever ensured that one resided there—until now.
Many years ago, I wrote on my prayer list that I wanted to own a piano for the sitting room no one sits in. At the beginning of each new year, with no sign of a piano, I wrote it anyway.
“Son, it’s your piano. You can take it when you want it,” My Grandpa spoke frankly to my father. Unbeknownst to me, my father stated, “I want it to go to Kristen. She will treasure it.”
It was raining when we pulled into the drive. Many familiar faces were inside for an after-Christmas reunion. Some of the same ones who had played and sung so many times before were standing there as the piano made its exit.
Grandma was in the dining room, cleaning out the piano seat from years of old sheet music, song notes, and hymnals and scratches on tiny receipts. She informed me these were not going with the piano. I smiled with understanding. Then, without a second thought, much of it all found its way from my father’s hand to mine. He said, “It will be safe with you. Treasure it all.”
I didn’t have a chance to see the piano in its spot one last time. The years of cherished memories, squeezing past the piano to get to the seats around the oval dining room table, and the bench of the piano that always held the tea and lemonade for easy refills, were gone. The piano went out the front door as I entered the carport side.
My husband and cousins hauled the old Kimball piano from its spot of fifty years. Seemed only fitting the next generation made the transition.
Grandma said, “Your dad would always play while I was making supper. He would play good and loud.” Pops leaned over and said, “She still sounds mad about it.” We all laughed together.
Getting ready to leave, I hugged the family and gathered the kids off the front porch, where they sat rocking with the family, enjoying the rain. On my way out, Dad said, “Lots of memories were played on that piano. But let’s not talk about them just yet. It’s best to get the piano off the property first.” We smiled together.
I love coming from a family where memories are as much a part of who we are as the present. We choose to remember and enjoy past recollections. Possessions may not be what is important, but the people attached to them make them special. Ordinary days become a delicious treasure of the present. Who can resist such a gathering and fond times held together?
Talking to Grandma on the phone earlier during Christmas, she mentioned being unable to travel like they used to. But then she said, “Sometimes we take out our photo albums and retrace the places we have gone and memories we have made. It makes us smile to look at our pictures together and remember the good times we have had.”
Life is in the doing. Memories are made in the writing.
When I left that evening, the only thing left was for Grandma to vacuum the remains where the worn-down carpet held years of melodies. Watching the transfer take place left a sad sort of emptiness, but there is a fullness where it now resides in my sitting room, where no one sat. It will be complete as we gather and listen as the ivory keys are played.
As I finished supper, the pounding from little hands making up notes and singing delighted me. Perhaps one day, they will learn to play like their Pa and other family members. Even so, it is a beautiful piece that graces the sitting room.
Seeing the piano from across the room, I took great pleasure in crossing it off my list.
I was talking with a lady at church about the excitement of the new piano: “Well, it’s not new, but it is to me. It’s about fifty years old. It was my dad’s.” I could see the memories and understanding beaming from her eyes when she spoke: “Those are the best ones.” Perhaps they even play better.
Praise the Lord…praise Him with the timbrel and dancing, praise Him with the strings and pipe…” Psalms 150:1 and 4
