Thursday, July 14, 2011
Growing up I had a lot of hobbies. I rode horses and I was a Girl Scout. At one point I tried my hand (foot?) at soccer, and another time I gave making pottery a chance. Does reading count as a hobby? If it does, I did that too. I also wrote stories about magic carpets, about unicorns and about two little girls having a very serious talk in a sandbox.
But the only thing that really stuck with me was the piano. I started playing the piano when I was 7 years old, and took lessons until I was 18. When I moved away from home I didn't have the opportunity to continue with the hobby, and forgot all about how to play. I didn’t have a piano, and didn’t have an apartment big enough for a piano even if I had one. I resigned myself to never playing again.
And then came M. I moved in with him almost two years ago now, and one of the very first things I did in the bigger apartment was to buy a piano (read as: convince M to buy one for me.) There was a space in the apartment that was perfect for the piano, and when it finally arrived, I was over the moon. Since then I’ve slowly been getting back to playing. I still am nowhere near as good as I used to be, but I'm getting there. For this picture I drove to my parents' house and took a picture of the vey piano I learned to play on. After I took the picture I sat down to play. The keys were dusty, and the piano out of tune, but I know this piano by heart, all its quirks and kinks. I sat there and played for a long while. I forgot the time and was transported back to when I was good enough to play intricate pieces by Bach, Beethoven and Kabalevsky, and young enough not to appreciate the gift.
Today I do appreciate the gift. And I’ll try my very best to never let go of it again.
Labels: Thirty Days of Photographs