This is me at 2.5 years pedaling our old player piano. Photo evidence that I was 1) tan and 2) blonde

This is me at 2.5 years pedaling our old player piano. Photo evidence that I was 1) tan and 2) blonde, a photo by tubbysnuggles on Flickr.

We had an old player piano that my mom toiled over to refinish when we lived in Florida. It was the early 70s, and in style was that off-white finish with black flecks… I thought it was the most hideous thing ever, but man, did I ever, ever love that piano.

It had two big flat paddles that you had to pedal to make it go. When I was little, and too small to really reach them, I’d hang off the front of the bench and pedal away. We have pictures. Mom had lots of rolls for it. The roll you were playing was hidden behind a sliding door right in front of your face as you sat at the seat.

It had a lever up toward the top register, under the keys, that when you pulled it, the keys would freeze. Sometimes when I was practicing and mom would come bully me out of the way to show me how to play something properly, I’d sneak my hand under and at a dramatic moment, freeze the keys. She’d laugh, she wouldn’t get angry. I thought it was hilarious.

That piano moved with us from Florida, to Minnesota, to Connecticut, to Colorado. And there it died; the extreme dry weather in Colorado was the death knell and the soundboard cracked. At that time, I was playing a lot, and was pretty good, so dad decided to buy me a “real” piano and got the parlor grand baldwin that is still at Mom’s house, and we traded in the old player.

I wish I still had that piano. How I loved it.

Mom sent me a picture! I was 2.5 years old here. And blonde. And tan.