A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Piano Life
By Lena Massie
April 24, 2008

My first moment with a piano was not really my moment at all. I was very young and my family was celebrating Thanksgiving in Muncie, IN at my grandparent's home. The home in Muncie was designed and built by my Grandpa Johnson and he took great pride in the house and all of his eclectic possessions. It was a small ranch built out of Indiana limestone on ten acres with an obsessively pruned apple orchard and careful landscaping. My grandparent's piano sat in the back of the dining room masterfully tuned, the cherry wood gleaming in the sunlight. Maybe it was just the first time I noticed, because I have seen it many times since, but while my mother and two aunts baked in the kitchen and my cousins ran through the house, my uncle Bill sat forlorn and quiet starring at the piano. He was consumed by the piano, yet not touching it, and when people would beg he would finally sit down tentatively and release the most beautiful music I had ever heard. It was like he kept the piano at a distance but when he played he had rediscovered his old friend.

I may never understand the meaning of the piano for my uncle Bill but for my parents it was a simple joy. My mom and dad purchased a piano and my brother and I began lessons when I was around 6 years old. Our house was always filled with music. My parents danced and hugged every night while jazz or rock music pumped from our stereo speakers and spicy aromas filled the kitchen. My brother played the piano whenever he was extremely happy and I pounded on it when I was extremely mad. I quit playing the piano when I turned 18 and went off to college.

Recently, my grandfather passed away and I have inherited the haunting piano that my uncle Bill explored, his dear friend. I have yet to find a place in my cramped home for it or for my emotions surrounding my grandpa's death. I'm not sure I will ever understand the full meaning of these events.

Yet death brings life. Not even a month after my grandpa's passing; my brother and his wife had their first born, Lucas. I drove up to Indiana from my home in Virginia and there sat my brother holding his beautiful child close in one arm and playing a jazz tune on his piano with the other. Baby Lucas slept soundly. And a new chapter of piano stories began.

About the author:
I live in Salem, VA with my husband and dog Murphy. We have a quirky house that requires weekly repairs.

I have a BA in English, an MBA, and I work in insurance. When life gives me time, I write.