Friday, May 4, 2012

Piano Buying Blues

Picture of our new arborvitae. And some cones, I think.


Gulp. Looks like a lot of them. Hope they don't make a mess.


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My friend R tried to drop off K's prom dress tonight, thinking she was finished with the alterations she'd been working on.


Ha.


The feisty chiffon material stretched and pulled after being shortened and needs to be shortened even more.


We made her take it back. Despite the stink-eye she was giving the dress.


She told K never to buy chiffon again. As a matter of fact, K is only allowed to wear upholstery fabric from now on. R is comfortable working with that.


R is an awesome seamstress. She made her own wedding gown. And has made bridesmaids dresses. And costumes for theatrical events.


But she comes completely apart when you put a pile of chiffon in front of her. I told her to buck up, little buckeroo, you can do this and sent her off. Two hours later.


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While K went to change out of the dress, R and I settled in for a chat. We talked about lots of things, mostly our children.


And memories. I shared a story about her brother helping me out when we were {much} younger. She had never heard it before and we had a few giggles over the whole thing. 


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At one point in my life, sometime during my college years, I decided to audition for a community play. A friend was helping me practice a song to sing for the audition and I became so enamored with his piano playing that I wanted to learn to play. I convinced my parents to let me buy a piano, looked in the classifieds and found one about a half hour from home. All I had to do was find someone to help me pick it up. 


Enter R's brother, B. The lucky guy who owned a truck.


He was a regular customer at the convenience store I was working at and knew the piano player, who had also agreed to come with me to check out the piano. So the three of us piled into B's truck and took off to see this piano.


The house was not in the best condition, which should have been my first clue, but I was in such a haze of tra-la-la-I'm-buying-a-piano fog that I tamped down my hesitation and marched up the front steps, ready to purchase my first big piece of furniture. The seller came to the door, cigarette dangling from his mouth, decked out in a wife beater and tattoos. My second clue.


We went in the house. Big dog. Big mess. Third clue.


And then B saw the piano. And shot me a look.


It was big. And solid. And heavy. There was no way he and the piano player were going to be able to lift this thing. Oh sure you can, I urged him. 


I think we're going to need more people, he might have said. While slowly backing out the door.


The piano player took over. He asked the seller a couple questions and got no answers. He tried a few notes, deemed it unsuitable, and that was that.


We couldn't get out of there fast enough. B was a happy guy.


And that was the end of my piano buying phase.


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R's phone rang and we realized almost two hours had gone by. Our trip down memory lane was finished. Until she comes back with the dress. 


I'm sure we'll find something else to talk about.



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