The Piano

I have an upright piano, circa 1888. My folks bought it when my brother Rick started piano lessons. I was four or five. It was originally dark brown with delicate carvings of musical instruments in the front panels. My mother painted it an "antique white" long ago. That paint has chipped in places, letting the brown show through.

My brother taught me chop sticks, and from age five, I was hooked.

I have hauled this piano (or hired people to haul it) everywhere I've gone since leaving home.

I love to play. I played last night.

Me and my piano. It's what passes for a Friday Night Date in this house.

The girls? They're not so in love with the piano, or me playing it.

As soon as I start to play, one, or both, will come up and stare at me until I let them outside. I can tell them to "Go lie down" and they refuse, continuing to stand and stare at me until I release them from their torture.

Everyone's a critic.

Above the piano I've hung a humorous piece of artwork I bought at the Bellevue (WA) Arts and Crafts Fair around 1990. The artist created comics-style stories based on various occupations, with dogs featuring prominently in all. This piece - for attorneys - tells the tale of a dog on trial for leaving a "pile" on the sidewalk. His human is identified as his "accomplice" and the "witness" is a cat with a sinister grin. The dog is acquited by a jury of his peers - dogs and cats. The piece is titled "Doo Process."