In an effort to minimize what we are taking with us on the move, the decision was made to sell my beautiful, upright piano. Honestly, I haven't played much in the last five years. Sad but true. But it was so nice to be able to sit down and stumble through my Chopin nocturnes when the mood struck or try to shake the rust off of my stride skills.
Alas, it had to be done.
So yesterday a potential buyer came by to look at it. I knew he had to have some background in playing because he was carrying a book of Liszt (be still my heart!). He oggled the piano for a few moments and sat down to carefully touch the keys and feel them out. I am very grateful that he is planning on using the piano and "give it some love".
However, after he left with the promise to pick up the piano Monday morning, I couldn't help but want to call him and cancel the whole thing. It was a struggle not to cry and I think mi marido was just as surprised as I was at my emotions attached to the piano. I don't think he's ever really heard me play although few can claim that they have at this point (stage fright). My piano will definitely be missed and I do not look forward to coming home from work tomorrow to find that empty space.
Goodbye, old friend. Goodbye.