I'm getting rid of my beautiful old upright piano by the end of the summer. No need to donate it to a church or anything like that. The action is busted and it'll cost more than its worth to fix it. Needless to say, it hurts a lot to let it go. For all of the songs it pulled out of me. For the songs I could have written on it and won't. For the intervals I learned and the ones I didn't. For the chords I dug up and dissected for a melody that wouldn't leave me alone. For all the weeks that went by when I didn't touch it at all. For the one who gave it to me in the first place -- God bless him, where ever he may roam.
Believe me, I'll keep plunking away at this piano until it's all the way out the door. I'm still smoothing out all the wrinkles on a new song cycle for the next Black Americana album. I don't know the chords I'm hearing in my head and the only way I can find them is if I sit at a piano and feel my way through them. Until it goes, here's to the next piano I get. Hopefully, it'll be another wooden upright.
And yes, that whole declutter the apartment extravaganza is going quite well, thanks for asking.
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