Yesterday morning I got up too early. To get some more rest, I went out and spent a half hour in the hot tub. In that short time, I saw two bright, shooting stars. I marveled at their beauty, and went on about my normal day.
As I moved into my day, I knew that it was going to be exceptional. It was my day to tune the Schimmel, a piano I've been tuning each fall for years. Made in Germany about 15 years ago, it's the very best upright piano among my clients. The string scaling of the piano delivers a wonderful rich bass, and the transition from bass to tenor is smooth as silk. I've been caring for that piano each fall for the past five years, and I love it!
That particular piano, gained poignant significance to me three years ago. On that day as I got to about C5 in the tuning I got the phone call where I learned of the tragic death of my grand-daughter, Jenna. A few moments later, among my tears, I explained to my very kind, warm client that I couldn't finish the tuning, but that I would return in a week or so.
Each fall, as I return to that lovely piano, I relive the emotions. When I get to C5, the tears start to flow. I catch the tears, so they won't land on the key bushings to create havoc, but otherwise I let them do their work. I didn't know yesterday that it would be the same, but it was. It was, and it was fitting, and it was good.
As I wrote the invoice for yesterday's tuning, I penned "10/26/2017". I looked at that and marveled, because I realized it was the 101st birthday of my mother who passed away at 97 just a few weeks before Jenna joined her at 14.
My two, bright, shining stars. And what is it about that piano?