{"id":9966,"date":"2026-03-07T00:01:00","date_gmt":"2026-03-07T00:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/?p=9966"},"modified":"2026-03-07T01:06:17","modified_gmt":"2026-03-07T01:06:17","slug":"my-mothers-piano","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/my-mothers-piano\/","title":{"rendered":"My Mother’s Piano"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\"Steinway<\/a>
A newer, bigger Steinway grand piano.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

My mother’s baby grand piano1<\/a><\/sup> sat in the southwest corner of the living room at 818, where I grew up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She taught me the basics: where middle C is, how to hold my hands over the keyboard, that sort of thing. A lifetime later, I know that I could have paid more attention. But I’m glad to have learned what I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somewhere along the line she had me learn to play “D’ye ken John Peel?” \/ “Do you know John Peel?” \u2014 a surprise for my father. It was supposed to be a secret. So, of course, as soon as he came home, I blurted out what I was learning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Learning impulse control is a work in progress. But I am<\/strong> getting better.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The baby grand went with my parents and me when we moved to 1010. It traveled with them again when they moved to the farmstead my mother grew up on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, around the time taking care of my mother became more difficult for my father, my folks donated it to the nearby town’s nursing home. That’s where both my parents eventually died, and that’s another topic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fast-forward a couple decades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>All Things End<\/h3>\n\n\n
\n
\"Photo<\/a>
McStash Mills<\/a>, near Hillsboro, North Dakota.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Our second-oldest daughter \u2014 she and our son-in-law live on the farmstead now, running their sawmill \u2014 and that’s yet another topic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where was I?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our second-oldest daughter called last Monday, talking first with my wife: which is par for the course. Those two generally have quite a bit to talk about.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a while our third-oldest daughter brought me the phone, so that the second-oldest could talk with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This isn’t routine, but isn’t unheard of either. Although we’re not the model family of 1950s sitcoms, we do<\/strong> communicate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyway, first thing she \u2014 second-oldest daughter this is \u2014 said was something like ‘all things end’. Her tone was upbeat, but the words had me wondering what had happened. And who it had happened to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Within a minute, she’d filled me in on the situation. Nobody had died, been injured, or taken ill. Right there, that’s good news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The topic of conversation was my mother’s piano. Seems it’s upwards of a hundred years old. That would probably make it my grandmother’s piano first, then my mother’s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pianos, our daughter told me, don’t last forever.2<\/a><\/sup> The baby grand my folks donated to the nursing home had gotten to the point where maintenance won’t keep it going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Having the parts that make it a piano replaced would be possible. But the job would cost more than a new piano, so that wasn’t a reasonable option.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All this was interesting, but I still didn’t know why our daughter was talking with me about the situation. It’d been something like two decades since the piano had passed from the family’s hands to the nursing home’s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>Decisions<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Folks at the nursing home had given our daughter and son-in-law first refusal for taking the thing off their hands. I’m sure they didn’t put it that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was back in December. Our daughter had meant to bring this up earlier, but \u2014 that household has a lot on their plate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At any rate, they’d given the part of the family living in North Dakota an opportunity to reclaim the piano. Our daughter was talking with me to put me in the loop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Building a new piano inside the shell of the old one didn’t make sense. Not to me. Even if we could afford it, I saw no point. What we’d end up with would be the shell of the piano I knew from childhood up, with a new piano inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We can, however, have pieces of the piano’s case, or whatever the outside’s called, after whoever’s doing the removal gets the inside mechanisms out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our daughter and son-in-law want the legs and top. They will try reassembling them as an end table. She said that ‘of course’, they’re keeping the piece above the keyboard that says “Steinway”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I suggested that the outer shell, the part that’s straight on one side and curved on the other, might make the outside of a bookcase. I’ve been wanting one for the north room, where I spend most of my time these days. It’d be about five feet wide and five tall, which should let it fit against the wall near my desk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whether or not that works out, I’m glad she called and told us what the situation was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>Gratitude and Saying Goodby<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\n