There is a glorious smell of piano in my study
Throwing me down the path of basement lessons with cute 'klaver' teacher as an impressionable teen.
No nodes could be taught,
I was dumb as soup. Which is why first two teachers gave up on me.
I could hear though.
Mozart and Beethoven, a salad of Straßes and a side bar of Beatles.
Bitter sweet memories form as I sit here looking at the remainder of a 100 year old piano split to kindling.
The I Ching of change right here on my table. Our piano always sang change. Stuffed into the 70ies home bar area in the white house dad bought when we were too broke to stay in the one before. And the one before that. Still, he wanted his daughter to play an instrument. We had tried the accordion.
It weighed more than me and had it after I drew blood on its clasp falling over it
That. And the fact that I have no left right coordination. Was a leftie, turned right in first grade. A thinly disguised attempt to 'normalify' the last of the Mortensen kids. Having failed to succeed with the other three, all stops were pulled. They failed. Instead I could both write with and not write prettily with both hands. And if I had ever had any, the ability to know what was left or right, how to coordinate the two with hands feet and eyes, went. My exceptional father saw the clumsiness as a sign I was his ... Flat footed fella he was. Walked like a goose. Although, feeling loved by your dad is great, goose walking ambidextrous five year olds do not fare well in rural seventies school yards.
My foot to shin aim was perfected soon enough. Unfortunately, this would not help me 10 years later cloppering the pedals on the sad bar piano that had replaced the atrocious accordion. Black gentleman he was, still smelled of smoke and bodega. In times of strife dad could always find a bargain. Wolfgang I called him. Ivory fingers, at least a handful of the slices of dead elephant missing. The old man was injured. Mum had him tuned once. That would do it tight dad said. 'It is not about being in tune, it's about knowing the dance.' Explained a lot. Half the family couldn't carry a tune if it were a feather the other had perfect pitch. And then there was me.
#sussithepoet
