Storytelling: Gramma’s Grand

At Lilja, we focus on telling stories. Here’s a story I recently wrote for a newsletter at my grandmother’s request.

“Gramma” has always meant music to me. This isn't all that surprising in my family; Gramma, Mom, my sister – we're all musicians and have sung and performed together since each one of us could barely speak. Gramma's husband was a piano tuner, as was his father before him. Gramma's mother played piano (usually patriotic marches, as loudly as possible), and Gramma's brother played trumpet during and after World War II. There was always a piano at home, and Mom was frequently teaching lessons. But Gramma and Gramma's house was something different.

Not only did Gramma have a piano, she had an organ. Sometimes she had two pianos. But best of all, she had the grand.

Many years ago, my grandfather purchased an old, beat up grand piano for my grandmother and rebuilt it. Completely. I remember not being able to go into the music room because the action, all the hammers and the innards that make the piano hit the string, was laid out on the floor. The cabinet was off at a furniture repair shop to be refinished, but Grandpa did all the rest himself. Re-felting the hammers. Adding weights to and rebalancing the action. Meticulously going through each of the 88 keys to make sure there was a consistent touch and beautiful sound every time.

Once his work was done, Gramma's began. I remember lying underneath the piano, listening to her practice. Chopin was always a favorite, and rightly so – she can trace her piano teachers back to Chopin himself. Once, I elbowed my way into playing “duets” with Gramma and my mother. And when I got my “59 Solos You Like to Play” book, a rite of passage in my family, I remember sitting down at that beautiful grand myself, Gramma by my side to guide me through our favorite pieces.

Wherever she's moved, we always must make sure there's room for the grand piano. This usually meant getting a slightly larger apartment so Gramma and her piano roommate would both have space. But this was a necessity. Gramma and her grand were not to be parted.

Until now.

I'm moving into a townhome in Apple Valley, and, as I've been told since the grand was reassembled all those years ago, the piano is going with me. Now I must make sure there's room for my piano roommate. I know Gramma will miss her pal, but as she noted when we talked about it, now she'll have room for another chair in her apartment. And next time I visit her, we'll just have to play our duets on the community piano at her apartment complex, instead.

- Kadee