This is my piano. In point of fact, it is a grand piano. It sits in what should be a formal dining room along with shelves of books, and a really cheap stereo. Sometimes the area underneath my piano is home to push toys, wagons, small cars and a dog or two.
I bought this piano one month before I found out I was pregnant with Boogie. I've played since I was 8 years old and my current instructor felt I had outgrown my upright. She was right, but the purchase of a grand piano is not something done lightly. I could afford a Yamaha but dreamed of a Steinway. ( Did this stop me from heading out to the local Steinway Gallery and spending the better part of an afternoon playing their grands? Hell no.) The Yamaha I chose spent one year at a local university in a practice room. Students sweated out their performances over it's keys. They left their pencils in it's innards and small rings where soda cans rested. When I played this piano in that cramped room, I knew she was for me. She had a sweet, rich voice even when out of tune. I'd waited my whole life to have a grand and this abused little instrument was the one.
I don't get to practice as often as I'd like. Truth be told, I simply don't make the time for it. I keep her tuned and Boogie likes to pound her keys with small baby hands. When I do play, Boogie twirls around the room; a little leaf fluttering about to the likes of Chopin and Mozart. My piano stays tuned, enjoys a relatively spacious room and the occasional loving touch of one who waited a lifetime for her and a child who, hopefully, will share her Mommy's passion for this instrument.