Post #5 - Down To Business

OK, so that's how we (I do have a partner in crime, who eggs me on, so I refuse to take full responsibility for this - even though I'm told this is my project) got to the point where the piano was actually sitting in our house.

So what did we actually buy?

Well, this is what I know from the markings.  It's a Cadby Piano, Charles Cadby to be exact, and it was manufactured in London England, Liquorpond Street to be exact.  No, I have to ask, who in their right mind would not buy a piano sold on a street called Liquorpond???

That's according to label.  Although you can't read it - the picture above was taken without a flash and a tad blurry - the right seal bears the date 1862.  So the piano can't predate 1862.  But heck, that makes it almost a hundred years older than me and dates it to the era of the civil war. And sold on Liquorpond Street, for good measure.

On the piano block itself is the serial number: 10034.  It appears on both sides of the block.

There are also several signatures, and dates from the technicians that tuned the piano back when it was in a tunable state. 

That particular one is dated July 5, '89 (I'm assuming 1889).  The earliest, and most faded so it's hard to be sure - it will not photograph - appears to be '72.  So at the very least I have a label with the date 1862 on it and an inscription dated 1889. and possibly one from 1872.

So armed with that knowledge, I did what comes naturally - I hit the web.  It turns out that good ole Charles was from a well-known prestigous family and I was in luck - a lot is known about him and his piano endeavours.

I won't bore you with all the details (if you're really interested, you can check him out here or on his family's Wikipedia page), but Charles opened up a piano manufacturing company and shop on that famous of all streets, Liquorpond, in the 1860s.  No one knows exavtly when or where he got the skills to actually do this (although he was a cabinetmaker), but do it he did.  And thrived there until about 1874 when road expansion around London resulted in the demolition of the factory and showroom on Liquorpond Street (alas) and Charles moved shop.

We'll leave Charles' history there.  What I wanted to know was the date of the piano - or as close as I can get to it.  I found a forum discussing Cadby pianos and determined that the right seal on the label is due to Cadby receiving a medal for his pianos at the London Exhibition of 1862.  Also, that after 1874, when he moved from the fabled Liqourpond Street address, the company became known as Charles Cadby & Sons.  Now, our label just says Charles Cadby - no Sons.  So, it's likely that the age of the piano is somewhere in the range of 1862 - 1874.

As I read farther, one poster asked if the serial number 11946 could be dated.  The response was in line with what I expected - after 1862 but almost certainly (surprise surprise) before 1868.  Ok, that's a date range I can live with...  Personally, I'm saying 1866-67, given that there are 2000 numbers between my serial number and the no later than 1868 serial number.

As you may be able to tell, the more research I did - and the fact that there was actually information about this piano line (I can't even trace either line of my own family past the early 1900) - the more I was falling in love with this damn piano.  Not as a musical instrument.  Not as a lovely piece of furniture. 

As a piece of history.  I love history.  I love it a lot.

Consider... This piano might possibly have been around at the same time Abraham Lincoln was alive - it's a stretch, but only by one or two years...  Heck, if Lincoln had traveled to London and met the family who owned this piano and was invited for dinner (instead of, say, some stupid play in the US), then he probably would have sat around afterwards singing old timey songs with family and talking about the war.  And if that had happened, well, he wouldn't have been assassinated - the piano saves the day!  Depending on how you feel about the Civil War ,anyway - after moving to the South, I found out that not everyone in the whole world thinks it worked out the right way.

You see how my mind works.

All of a sudden (not really, the feeling had been growing ever since we wrestled the damn thing on the truck), I was not quite as enthusiatic about gutting it as I had been.

But that's the logical thing to do.

Post #4 - The Descent Into Madness

She did.

The very next day...  My mobile phone went off at work.  Now, if you know me, you KNOW that calling me is not the best option.  Text me first.  Email me second.  Send smoke signals third.  Call me last.

The rule of thumb with any kind of call is - if I don't recognize the number, you talk to voicemail.  There is no alternative.  After which, if you're lucky, I may listen to at some point in the future.

The second rule of thumb with a number I actually DO recognize is - if it's likely to be bad news, you will still probably talk to voicemail, with the caveat I will probably actually listen to it sooner than later.

Many people will find this bizarre...  Sorry about that.  My personal belief is that mobile phones have completely ruined personal privacy.  In the OLD OLD OLD days, you had to send a letter, and wait a periord of time - usually days/weeks - before you got an answer.  In the OLD OLD days, you had to catch someone at home to talk to them on the phone (which was then considered a cool thing to do).  In the OLD days, you could leave a voicemail on their home phone.  In the NEW days, people are mortally offended if they call you and you don't answer.  I hate phones and I hate the premise that if you call, I must answer. 

Sorry, slight digression there.

When the phone rang and the number showed (as numbers do these days) a 281 area code, I mentally ran through the list of people trying to contact me - bill collectors (probably not), job employment opportunities (probably not), local people trying to sell me something (good possibility), piano lady telling me she would/would not sell the piano (high probability).

I let it go to voicemail.

After all, either way this was not good news.  "Yes, I'd love to sell you this piano for $200" means that I'm out $200 for the piano, plus at least $100 for the truck, plus back-breaking labor, plus, whatever it takes to get it working.  "No, I've decided to to turn this piano you're so interested in into scrap" means just that.  No project, and another piece of history broken up for parts.

I waited a day.  Then I called her back.

I'll spare you the complete conversation.  The gist was basically, "I'll sell it to you for $250 cash; if you paid check or credit, I'd have to charge tax and you'd still pay $250."  Probably shouldn't have written that, but that's how it's done.

It was a deal.

I arranged for a truck and my wife arranged for a helper, in the form of her son.  We were on for the next weekend.  And I was not looking forward to it - I knew this piano was "lighter" than the average piano, but it was still a piano and it was still bulky and it still had a broken leg,  It was still a pain in the ass.

Saturday came and I picked up the truck.  That went smoothly...  The bad news came when I got home with truck (deposit paid and credit card registered).  Our helper was sick and was not going to be able to help.

No choice at this point.  I had the cash (a stop at the ATM on the way to get the truck, I never carry cash anymore) and U-Haul had my credit card.  We had to go.

And go we did. I drive a VERY small car and driving a U-Haul is not my idea of fun - especially into downtown Houston.  But we did it.  And got there in one piece.  Since I had had the presence of mind to get a truck with a ramp and took my various dollies and carts, I figured that with a minimum amount of pain and effort, we could do this between Victoria and myself.  And hopefully some people at the shop...  After all, getting it INTO the truck had to be harder than getting it OUT.

Right?

Sort of...  we got there, paid the nice lady (who chastised me for not telling exactly when we coming so she could make sure she had people here to help us - my bad), man-handled the beast out of the store, across the gravel driveway, and - unbelievably - up the ramp.  Laid the thing on it's back ("Don't rip the back cloth, that's antique!!!"  Thank you, wife), closed the door, put up the ramp, and we were off.  Back through Houston to the suburbs.

And we made it home uneventfully.  Which, for a Saturday in Houston on I-45, is a major accomplishment.

And, miracle of miracles, the thing I had been praying for the entire way back came true - my next door neighbor was mowing his front lawn.  Now, Victoria and I know that every time a U-Haul pulls up to our driveway, most of out neighbors heave a sigh of relief, cross their fingers, and hope we're finally moving away.  We're not bad neighbors, you know, just...  different.

So of course, Mr. Ray had to come over to see what we were about.  And, when I explained that - so sorry - we were not moving, but we had a piano to move INTO the house, why Mr. Ray did exactly what I was hoping for.

Asked if we needed help.

Now, Mr. Ray is both the best neighbor and the nicest person I have ever met.  If you need help, Mr. Ray will help.  If you don't need help, Mr. Ray will TRY to help.  I try not to take advantage of this, and I would not have rung his doorbell to ask, but you see - he asked first!  And, although I thought getting that piano out of the truck had to be easier than getting it in, without Mr. Ray then it would be just Victoria and me.  So of course, I said yes - of course!

It took about 30 minutes, a fair amount of sweat, quite a bit of jostling through the front door, rugs and dollies to spare the wood floor from the metal wheels (once again, thank you Mr. Ray, because in my mind, wheels are wheels and roll just great across any surface), the piano was in the house.

With no further damage to the piano case.
And no durther damage to either leg (both of which have problems).
And no rippage of the back cloth.

So, if you've stayed with me through all of this, this is where the rubber meets the road and the real fun starts.

We own it.
It's home,
I made a commitment to do SOMETHING with it.

And it's waiting...

Post #3 - The Method Behind The Madness

Unfortunately, sleep didn't come easily that night.  Victoria asked, several times, whether we should do this...  And I was leaning - strongly - to the answer "no".  Which didn't sit well, for some reason.

Then, about 2am, I woke up with a wonderful idea.  I'm not sure about you, but this happens to me quite a bit - go to sleep wrestling with a problem, toss and turn for several hours, then wake up with a totally brilliant idea.  Well.  Maybe.

It occurred to me that we had three options:

• Walk away and wait for something equally as nice but not as hard to get back into playing shape
• Buy it, and pay several thousand dollars to have it refurbished (if possible) and playable
• Buy it, and gut it - use an electronic keyboard in the shell to provide the musical part of the instrument

A couple of months prior to this whole episode, Victoria's daughter expressed an interest in learning to play keyboard.  For her birthday, we went looking at electronic keyboards upon which she could learn.  For the most part, we concentrated on the standard Casios and Yamahas, with programmable sounds and rhythm (and headphones).  And not overly expensive.

However, I noticed that there were a series of plain keyboards - weighted keys, no extra gizmos, the same length as a standard keyboard and very narrow in width.  The thought crossed my mind that if I ever gave up on a real piano, this might be an alternative.

Then later, during one of our steam punk forages through a Good Will kind of store, we had run across a hybrid mini-organ with a Casio keyboard - the full-blown kind with effects and rhythm - embedded in it.  Someone had cobbled it together and, while you could tell it was a Frankenstein it was still intriguing.  That was tempting, at the time, but we passed.

So, about 2am, it hit me that we might be able to marry the vintage English piano shell with the plain type of electronic keyboard.

When Victoria asked next about whether we were going to go after the piano, I presented the three options - no cost (walk away), extreme cost (refurb with no guarantee), and moderate cost (keyboard with risks).  We talked about it for a while and finally resolved that the most logical choice was to walk away.  She wasn't thrilled with an electronic keyboard guts (I couldn't guarantee it wouldn't look like the Frankenstein) and I wasn't thrilled with the risk (would it really fit) or the cost  (piano + moving + refinishing + electronic keyboard).

And that was that.  So they say.

We went to Mardi Gras, made our costumes, dressed up, had a great time...  Totally forgot about the piano.  Except when we went to an antique store and saw another piano.  Other than that, forgotten...

Until we got home.  For some reason, I just couldn't let go of that damned piano.  And I tried.  As I've said before, I knew what was involved.  But it wouldn't let go.

Finally, one weekend we were headed into the city, I can't remember why, and I suggested that we swing by the antique store, just to see whether the piano was still there.  Victoria looked at me knowingly - she knows me well - and said, "You haven't given up on this, have you?"  Or something close to that.

We decided that we would check it out.  I said I would offer no more than $200 and be prepared to walk away.  We agreed that was the plan.

I can't remember what we had planned for that day, but somehow it ran longer than we expected.  By the time we were swinging back to head home - and to the antique store on the way - it was late in the afternoon.  Personally, I was convinced that the store was closed (it was Sunday).  And I had mixed emotions about that.

But, surprise surprise, it was still open.  And, of course, the piano was still there - who in their right mind would buy it?

But, more surprisingly, the woman who actually owned it was in the store - last time, they told us she was in Europe.  As I was looking it over for whatever I could find out about the piano that I might had missed the first time - anything to definitively talk me out of this - she came over.

We talked.  She asked if we were really interested.  I said we were (and Victoria agreed).  She asked if we understood it was not playable and probably would never be.  That's where the conversation got interesting.

I explained what I hoped to do if we bought it - plunk an electronic keyboard into it.  But I thought, given everything, $200 was about as high as we'd go.  Then she said she finally realized she'd never sell it and HER plan was to take it apart and sell the pieces - there was some nice rosewood, the ivory keys, the leg posts - for either replacement parts or scrap.

At that point, I figured it was over.  While I didn't think you you could sell the pieces as replacement parts because a piano that old is pretty much a custom piece - and I said so - I could just see parts of it in art, home improvement, whatever.

She said she'd have to think about it - she did say that if it had stuck with us this long - at least 4-6 weeks had gone by since we'd first seen it - that we were probably serious about it.  But $200 was a far cry from the $1400 or so she originally asked for it...

I left my name and number, and she said she'd call if she decided not to scrap it.

And so, we left, split between hoping she would call - and hoping she would not.

Post #2 - Just Walk Away, Robere

So, this whole thing started because of Mardi Gras in New Orleans.  Well, sorta.  Granted, no matter when Victoria and I went "antiquing" - aka checking out all the local, for wherever we happen to be, junk stores - I always had my eye out for a piano.  But, luckily, there was always a reason to pass on a prospective purchase - too far away (no transport), too expensive, too plain, too..  whatever.

But Mardi Gras was coming, and we decided that this year we would dress steampunk.  So we hit the usual junky hotspots, looking for those inexpensive bits and pieces of dials, gauges, tin, antiquy things that lend themselves to the steampunk theme.

Unfortunately, we weren't finding what we wanted/needed cheaply, so we decided to range further afield than we usually go - and I remembered an old antique/junk store we had visited a couple of years ago when we went to the Houston Art Car Museum.  Kind of across the street, nice collection irony, farmy kind of stuff.  So, on a swing through the better parts of Houston - the Heights, 19th Street, Westheimer, and all those other artsy places, we ended up at the Heights Antique Station on our way home.

While we pawed through various boxes of stuff, I happened to wander ahead - when we do this kind of thing, I'm usually the ranger (looking to see what pops out immediately) and Victoria is the seeker (looking to see what I missed).  Well, I found The Piano.

I had never seen one like this - very ornate, brass CANDLE HOLDERS mounted on the front (so you could read the sheet music), a FOLDING SHEET MUSIC STAND (so you could hold up the sheet music), carved legs, beautiful inlay in the wood, what I believed were ivory keys.

And a price tage of $450.

More than I'd spend, but close enough to what I'd consider for a piano - and a beautiful piano, at that - that my interest was piqued.

I hauled Victoria over to look at it, and of course, she was totally taken with it.  If nothing else, a beautiful piece of furniture.  If nothing else.

But I, having previous piano experience, was much wiser.  I knew how heavy pianos are; I knew how cantankerous old pianos can be; I know how hard they are to move.  No matter how beautiful.  I had to check it out.

Well, the front said 1865.  When we cleared all the antiques off the top, and lifted it up, there were the signatures of various tuners who had worked on the instrument through the late 1800's into the 1900's.  The sound board, when I got the front lower panel off, looked good - no more cracked sound boards for me.  The back was an covered in what looked like authentic cloth with no holes - no peeking there.

Then I tried the keys...  No sticking, no permenantly depressed keys, no weird buzzing sounds.  But when I got my smart phone out with its guitar tuner app installed - well, that's where the love fest started to sour.  Middle C was actually middle A#, and that was on a good day.  The rest of the keys were in similar shape.

About that time, I decided to try to lift it, just to see if pianos were as heavy as remembered them to be.  Surprisely, this one lifted several inched of the ground without throwing my back out.  Good news!  Then the right front leg supporting the keyboard bed fell off and clattered to the floor.

Bad news.

As I was fixing that, furtively hoping no one had noticed, one of the men who worked at the place came over.  The leg was back on by then, but I was still checking the piano out...  The conversation went something like this (unfortunately, I do not have total recall, so I'll paraphrase):

"You interested in that piano?"

"Well, maybe, it certainly is a nice looking instrument"

"Are you a musician?" (My hair was down and I get this a lot, as well as being mistaken as a woman by waiters/esses approaching from the rear)

"Kind of.  I play guitar...  I know a little bit about piano, but I've always wanted to learn to play better"

"Oh.  You should probably walk away"

"Really?  I know it's way out of tune, but a good tuning will fix that!"

"Man, this is an ENGLISH piano.  A good tuning will fix nothing...  Two months later, you'll be tuning it again"

"Seriously?  Are English pianos that bad?  Because they cam across the ocean?  Warped, bad sound board?  What?"

"Man, if you want to play a piano, I know a bunch available that you can look at.  If you want a nice piece of furniture, well, then you can't do better than this - the lady next door that runs the garden shop has one just like that makes a dandy plant stand."

Now, one of my biggest faults is that I don't listen to people who know what they're talking about when they're speaking.  I know that.  It's just that I like to do my own research and figure things out for myself.  So, about this time, that AM radio buzz you get when you go under a bridge or start to lose the signal began to intrude.  I saw lips moving, but not a lot was reaching my eardrums.  I got the fact that he didn't think buying this thing as a playable piano was a good idea, but I kinda missed the part on WHY.

So I checked everything out again - price tag (originally $1400, now $450), the label (Cadby piano, 1865), the keys, candle holders, signatures, broken leg, everything.

And Victoria was very supportive - we've always wanted one, the price is not bad, it's very beautiful (she said pretty, I refuse to type that except in parentheses), even if it was just furniture, it would be great!

But I knew.  *I* KNEW.  Pianos are heavy.  No one wants to move - or help move - a piano.  Pianos are boat anchors.  And we are trying to downsize our household.  I knew...

So we went home and I went on the internet.  And that's when the depression started.

I knew nothing about vintage English pianos.  Well, other than that they had probably be made in England (hence the name).  In the Old Days (hence the term vintage).  But I found out...

It turns out that vintage English pianos are very beautiful.  A whole lot of work and craftmanship goes into the case and body.  If you look on the internet, as I did, you'll find out.  This one has the folding music stand like the one we'd seen:

I wasn't sure if the candleholders were original, but then I found this:

Now the woodwork of the one we'd seen wasn't quite as nice - close - but those candle holders are almost an exact match.

However, it also turns out that vintage English piano makers did not embrace the concept of an iron frame for the string harp.  They used wood.  Good English oak, usually.

Which explains why I could pick up the piano by myself, at least enough to cause the leg to fall off.   Wood weighs a lot less than iron.

And also explains why the piano was so far out of tune (excusing just common neglect).

A wooden frame warps if temperature and humidity are not constant.

A wooden frame does not hold the string pegs tightly after 50 or so more years - the holes expand.

A piano with a wooden frame is NOT a candidate for rehabilition.  It makes a lovely piece of furniture; it will never make a lovely musical instrument for a reasonable amount of money.  In fact, it may NEVER make a lovely musical instrument for ANY amount of money.

All the experts said so.  If I read the advice "walk away" when some poor besotted soul found one and "go find a more modern instrument" one more time in all the reviews, blogs, restoration sites I looked at, I'd probably puke.

Thoroughly depressed - I really thought this might be the piano - we went to bed and I resolved to forget about this supposed gem.

We needed to walk away.

Adventure #1 - Rebuilding An Antique Piano

Post #1 - The History Behind Stupidity

OK, I have to admit it up front - I've been here before.  And...  You think I would have learned my lesson from previous experience.  Experiences.

If you like music and play an instrument - I play guitar - and people know it, it's almost inevitable: "Hey, I (my parents, my children, my favorite auntie, my neighbor, insert the person of choice who wants to dump a piano) has this piano...  I know you're into music...  You know anyone who might want it?  They're willing to let it go for (again, insert your favorite price or lack thereof - free, you move it it's yours, $100, whatever) IF YOU WANT IT.

It's like offering candy to a baby.  A FREE (or close to it) piano???  Who the heck wouldn't want it?

First time it happened to me, it was around 1980 and I was too young to know.  In-laws had this "great" upright they were willing to let go for free.  I couldn't say no.  Forget that I had no formal training other than one semester of Piano I with Mr. Dugal as a senior in high school.  I knew I could learn how to play.  I played guitar after all and I knew where middle C was.  I knew how to play the intro to "Dream On" by Aerosmith.  How hard could it be?

That first piano was delivered to our ground-floor apartment through the screen door that opened into the kitchen.  And there it sat.  And sat.  And sat.  And stayed when we moved out.  Goodbye piano #1.  The keys that you used to play the intro to "Dream On" were pretty worn.

*****

Fast forward two or three years.  "Man, my parents have this piano they just have to get rid of.   It's FREE.  I know you're into music and all, you think you want it?  It's an antique!  Probably from like the 40's or 50's or something like that.  It may have some problems, but you know, you're good with this kind of thing..."

This time I had to think about it.  Already left one piano behind...  But now, I had this friend who actually played piano and we were starting to play music together.  But still...  Don't even know if this thing works or has problems.  But still...  How bad could it be?

After arguing back and forth in my mind, and then dickering about it with my now-ex-wife, I decided to make the jump.  Again.

Only THIS time, we were living on the third floor of an old house in NH.  That meant three back-breaking flights up stairs - luckily this place had a nice wide staircase with lots of wide curves and no real sharp turns and I had brothers-in-law as well as my piano player friend to help me get it up there.

And let me tell you, it made a great piece of furniture and a stand for all our other musical instruments.  Pete was able to plant his electric keyboard right on top of the keyboard cover, and the speakers and monitors sounded and looked great sitting on top of it.  I even rigged up a rack that held the synths (it was the late 80's), so it looked REALLY cool.

It seems that the soundboard had a lovely crack in it and if you banged too hard on a key, why, something deep inside snapped and the key just stayed down.  Not exactly easy to play.  So it became a piece of furniture and a great music stand.

When we moved, there was no option to just leave it there and make it someone else's problem - the people who owned the house were our friends.  So I corralled the same set of we'll-never-do-this-again friends, and we hauled it back down those three flights of stairs (rather than out a window, which was discussed).  Then down into the basement of our new townhouse, where my new studio was going to be.

And once again, it sat.

But I never really forgot it.  It kind of gnawed at me.  It's a musical instrument and it's just sitting there. 

I finally decided to take it apart and find out a) whether the soundboard was really cracked and b) why those pesky keys just stayed down.  It turns out that the jury was still out on the soundboard (I never did find out, but it always had a nasty buzz to it), but the key problem was easy.  At the back of each key a rod descended to a plastic L-shaped piece that attached to the piano action.  Plastic gets brittle when it gets old and if you stress it enough - like banging on a key - you can shatter them.

Luckily, my ex-wife's grandfather did woodworking and, when I brought him am intact plastic piece (still attached to the rod, otherwise it wouldn't be intact), he said he could make me 88 wooden pieces to replace the plastic ones.  I wanted 100.  Just in case, you know.

This is not a blog about that particular piano and the action hanging from the basement rafters or the soundboard trapping my toes so I couldn't lift it back up again until someone rescued me.  Maybe I'll tell that story sometime...  Suffice it to say that the broken plastic pieces were replaced with wooden ones, but plans to actually tune it (it wasn't THAT bad) or figure out how to fix the buzzing sound (only on the real deep bass notes and who plays those) or wire it up so we could record with it (I had great electronic diagrams) never came to pass.  When I got divorced and moved out of the house, that piano stayed there and passes from my history.

Another piano left behind.  And I swore I would never do it again.

Too heavy.

Too much work.

I don't really know how to play one (but I'd like to).

*****

But I never stopped looking, I couldn't seem to help myself.  An old upright in a junk store (they want how much for THAT??), an electronic version like the one my wife and I found in our favorite B&B in New Orleans (got remarried there - but do you know how much electronic player-piano Yamahas actually cost??)...  I couldn't help myself.  But all I did was look.

After all, I'd been there before.  I know, from painful experience, that pianos are more work than they're worth, and even if you get one for free, you pay for it.  Usually with a broken back and friends who will NEVER help you move a toothpick in the future.

I'll look.  I'll want.  But I won't be stupid...  After two times, I have learned my lesson.

*****

So this is a blog about about stupidity.  Quite possibly extreme stupidity... 

THIS time, no one gave me a piano for free. 

THIS time, I did my research and found out that most experts believe a piano of this age and type are an extreme lost cause and the best thing you can do for your wallet - and your sanity - is walk away. 

THIS time, I practically begged for it (well, not really, but it felt that way).

THIS time, I have no one else to blame except me - I'd include my wife, but that would be unfair - because I know, or at least think I know, what I got into.

This is a blog about a beautiful 1860-70 vintage English piano that we found in an antique/junk shop.  I've seen plenty of pianos, but this one stopped me in my tracks.  Built-in wooden music holder (original).  Brass candle holders so you can see the music on case the electricity goes out - that happened a lot in the 1860's, I hear (probably original).  Signatures from the late 1800's and early 1900's from the guys who tuned it (those HAVE to be worth what we paid for it, living history).  Scroll work on the case.

I walked away the first time.  In fact, I semi-walked away the second time.  As they say, third time was the charm.

This is a blog about my amateur attempts to restore this piano - I have no real idea what I'm doing and outside of my one previous experience of replacing plastic L-shaped pieces with wooden ones, no real experience.  But I also have nothing left to lose now that I own it - if this doesn't work, then I drop an electonic keyboard onto the key bed and I make it work that way.

But...  Who knows?  If I can make it work, then I have an instrument that was originally built about 150 years ago - and that's a huge incentive to learn how to play.

So, if you're interested, this is my - and my poor wife's - journey in trying to turn a beautiful pile of wood and strings back into something that is playable.  It should be interesting...