Dreaming is not always free…

The symbols for various dynamic markings

The symbols for various dynamic markings (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I began piano lessons four years ago and bought my first piano, a $500 digital weighted keyboard which endured and occasionally continues to endure the wrath of my practicing.  Alas, infatuation with the digital, but not the lessons, evaporated as my skills increased. A digital keyboard sound is electronic, a reproduction of a pre-recorded acoustic piano sound.  A digital piano with its lack of hammers and strings does not produce the tonality, forte and passimo as well as sustain or fading notes found on an acoustic.

I moved on up…piano wise.

The acoustic spinet, once neglected but now attention riddled was my next purchase. Bought in a dilapidated piano warehouse in Brooklyn, the spinet was chosen from among the endless rows of others in various stages of disrepair-some physically pronounced. My piano teacher at the time approved her worthiness and $1,800.00 (including delivery) of blood, sweat and tears money earned went into the dealer’s pocket.

Baldwin Acrosonic was her name and out of tune, she would remain, until two weeks later, in my living room, now situated, now regulated.

For three years, we carried on in ignorant bliss. My pounding forte fingers, her gentle response, my fingers running scales and chords with crescendos, her gentle response, my delicate pianissimo fingers, and her nothingness response.  Our relationship, strong at the beginning, now schlepped along, dwindling, unfolding into nothingness,  like a rolling ball of yarn.

I, long to move on up…piano wise.

It’s not possible nor is it happening anytime soon. Finances and space prevent the headfirst dive into the world of the “GRAND PIANO”.  The elusive Estonia my fingers want to touch, the dreaded and over rated Steinway, the  Bosendorfer, Grotrian-there must be German in my blood, and the low tier Hailun which should be affordable but not affordable for me are visions of love and lust resting in a dreams of hope.

The hope of one day acquiring the chosen “grand” to sit in my living room, moving in as the neglected spinet moves out, is a costly dream.

Those who lost property…

Hurricane Sandy made a brief visit to New York and left behind in its havoc, a disabled hundred plus year old subway system and caused commuter woes of the most aggravating kind. Quality of life abruptly turned inside out by disruption in services taken for granted: gasoline, electricity and hot running water. Property damage was extensive and left those who lost property in a stupor.

New Jersey, the point of entry for the hurricane suffered enormous, irreplaceable and non-repairable damage.  The governor expressed profound sympathy for the people of his home state and demonstrated his despondent reaction to the destruction of amusement parks and boardwalks he frequented with his children during summer months.

Those who lost property…

I watched endless interviews of those who lost property on broadcast news.  Monetary value was not the sole basis for the despair. In other words, the financial worth of the property does not measure or compare to the sentimental attachment. Old family photos, videos of weddings and graduations, handwritten love letters, for example, are unique and fragile records of a memory stamped in time.

Wenger Swiss Army knife, opened.

Wenger Swiss Army knife, opened. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Pictures of the first communion, a recording of Jody’s piano recital, John’s first grade artwork framed in Grandma Jean’s antique frames are not ‘do over’ events. Gone is Gone and replaceable items such as: a washing machine (wedding gift from Uncle Bob given two days before his passing) or an engagement ring (passed down through generations and accidently left on the dresser drawer during the evacuation) hold memories of the giver not of the objects.

My brother recently came to visit. The World Trade Center Memorial was a stop on our ‘sight-seeing sights for free’ tour.  Security was uber tight and a Swiss Army knife tucked away in my bag set off alarms of the most-loudest kind. I was mortified as agents swarmed around me and reluctantly gave my knife to one who placed it in the ‘Claim department’.

Throughout the walking tour I was uneasy. A precious item I’ve held unto for almost thirty years was in a dark compartment in an unknown place. The knife holds sentimental value although it has seen better days. The red casing dropped off long ago. Of course, it is easily replaceable-tons of new ones on Amazon.com.

BUT…

The knife once belonged to a person, who once belonged to me, who once belonged to mí corazon (my heart) and who passed the knife unto me when he got a new and bigger one and eventually, figuratively and literally the same was done to me.

At the end of viewing the site I rushed, brother in tow to the pick-up area and joined the long line of men waiting to retrieve their pocketknives and yes, I was the only dame. This snippet of my life cannot compare to the lives of those who lost property due to Hurricane Sandy’s uninvited stop. Broadcast news continues to show images of tears and a longing to return to life before Sandy when their property was within reach, attainable and cherished.

I will have those who lost property in my prayers for quite some time.

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