The Piano

My piano came to live with us last week.

Right away, it was a hit with Chloe:




























She isn't the only one who's excited about it. I learned to play on this piano:

 
My mother learned to play on this piano. My grandmother played this piano. She received it as a wedding gift from her mother, and it has been passed down through the women in the family since. Now, it belongs to me.

It desperately needs a tuning, possibly two. It’s old. It isn’t particularly grand or elegant. The keys are worn with age. The bench has broken and been repaired countless times. But it has survived three generations now. Lord willing, someday I will teach my daughter to play on this same piano.

I never thought about its history when I was a little girl. I diligently practiced for piano lessons and recitals. Sometimes I wished it were prettier, shinier, like the gleaming black pianos at the piano store. Now, I love it. I am in awe of its history. I love the fact that I have this very tangible piece of my family’s story at my fingertips. These are the same keys my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother touched. That’s heady stuff.

I now own a piece of family history. It has been entrusted to my care. I will treasure it and do my best to preserve it for at least one more generation. Most of all, I will remember my family as I play it with love.