Day Forty Seven

The plan was the piano tuner would come today at about eleven. After getting to sleep after midnight, and getting up with My Better Half to see him off to work at six, the plan was to sleep in til at least nine. I could get up, shower, wash the dishes, start some laundry, have a nice breakfast, maybe have coffee ready when he arrived. If it worked out, maybe we could discuss the logistics of piano tuning certification over a quick lunch. (I have a terrible time allowing people to leave my house without being fed.) Of course, that was the plan!
     Nature called before nine, and once I was up, I decided to try to fix the living room light. After four months of living here, it's never worked. There was no chain to turn the light on, and the switch only seemed to operate the fan. It finally occured to me that maybe the bulb was out. And the room was going to be a pretty dark workspace without the piano light or an overhead light. Ah well, plenty of time to tinker this morning. So I clamber on the stool and investigate. Turns out the light pull chain hangs inside the light cover for some odd reason. Jerry-rig it with a twisty tie, clean the globe, and put it all back together. (Dropping those little screws too many times - feels like I've done Legs & Back after climbing up and down that bar stool a zillion times.)
     This has taken so long, I'm thinking I should shower and then do the massive pile of dishes while my hair dries. But vacuuming the piano will be dusty, so I'll do that next. Haul the vacuum downstairs, clear off the piano top, take the piano apart, take the vacuum apart, clean up the spiderwebs, put the vacuum back together, put the piano back together, dust the piano...and the phone rings. Could he have directions to my house again? He'll be here in twenty minutes. I'm still running around in my pajamas!
     Dash upstairs, put on something decent, pull the hair back in a ponytail. Maybe he won't notice the grease and dandruff, cause there is no time to shower! Back downstairs, picking up errant possessions, opening curtains, turning on lights, adjusting the thermostat, plugging in the candle warmer, checking the bathroom appearance...massive pile of dishes in the sink! But I remember an old trick - hide them in the oven. I don't need it anyway, he'll be long gone by lunchtime. It takes some manuvering, but I get the loaded dishpan (and all the dishes that didn't fit in the dishpan) hidden away in the oven. The laundry pile is stuffed, unsorted, into the washer. I can't run it while he's tuning anyway.
     He arrives just before the rain and we have a wonderful visit while he tunes. He shows me his tools and I watch the red bars on the electric tuner stabilize as the strings find the perfect tension. He's been tuning forty-four years and has great stories of boys who thought a piano made a good piggybank and of the eighty-three year old pianist who threw two hapless tuners out of her house, threatening to tune her piano herself.
     I am racking my brain to think of what I can feed him. It's past noon, but I haven't had time to prepare a lunch. I haven't even had breakfast. Maybe something to send with him. Cornbread! He's nearly done, but I slip into the kitchen and turn on the oven to preheat as I hastily begin pulling out the ingredients. THE DISHES! So much for not using the oven! Fortunately, nothing has melted, though the Tupperware is getting rather warm to the touch. Unfortunately, I now have a massive pile of dirty dishes and nowhere to hide them. I peek around the corner. He's still engrossed in the final adjustments. The dishpan goes on the washer, pushed back to the corner, and I throw a dish towel over the top. Maybe he won't notice!
     The cornbread decides to be obstinate and is still baking as he leaves. (He no doubt considers me cruel, to be wafting that smell as he leaves to catch a late lunch in town.) I give him directions to his next stop and close the door.
     There are few things as inspiring to me as a newly tuned piano. The Yoga X can wait. The shower can wait.  The dishes can wait. The laundry can wait. I open the deck door, listening to the rain outside, and play and play and play. Life is good.
~Stick to it!