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.