re-beginning the beguine

While at the bank the other day, I spotted a lanky, amiable man striding up the sidewalk. I recognized my piano-tuner.
"Hey, Mister," I chimed. "My piano needs a tuning."
We visited for a bit, chatting up the weather. He jotted my number on a scap of paper.
"I'll call you," he promised. "I'm coming out your way very soon."

Maybe if my Baby gets a spit and shine, I'll be more likely to polish her ivories. She is a loyal instrument who has seen me through thick and thin. The first few years she was mine, she really earned her keep. I cranked out thirty piano lessons a week then, opening my front door to assorted students and their families. I use the term crank purposefully, as teaching was never my love. Oh, the kids were sweet and I enjoyed getting to know them. But I rejoiced at cancellations, and filled the spare half-hours with the work of my own fingers.
After we moved thirty miles away, I folded shop and concentrated on raising my own little students ( #1 Son and #1 Daughter). When I did warm the bench, the selections were Sunday School songs and nursery rhymes. Talk about being overqualified.
A few years passed before I felt that ache to really play. It hit me while attending a chamber music concert. At the urging of my Hubby, I wrestled myself away from household drudgery and ventured through the snow to gather some sanity for myself. I climbed the creaky stairs at the Union College Chapel and staked out my claim in the curve of a wooden pew. Melting snow puddled at my feet while strains of Beethoven worked magic in my heart.
"I must play." I breathed, through tears sprung out of nowhere. So the next afternoon, I began. Or rather, re-began.

These things take time, I tell you.

My piano was patient with me though, and for that I thank her. Soon, my children were lullabyed with Bach every evening. They dozed off upstairs while mom untangled three-part inventions in the living room. On the rare night I was absent at bedtime, my mother-in-law was obliged to play a tape. It was Yo-Yo Ma playing unaccompanied Bach (to my kids, a cheap substitute for a live concert). Oh, I had fans.
I made a few strategic phone calls. "I'm playing again." I announced hopefully. "Call me if you need me. Even if it's short-notice."

The constraints of time leave me no choice but to fast-forward here. I started this post to say that I have recently neglected my shiny black friend. Even this morning, the computer keyboard won out over the musical keyboard. But I intend to make up lost time, starting right now.

Far be it from me to leave important things un-begun.