May I say sidestep the rules and say how much I enjoyed Mike and
Robert's late night exchange?
Saturday was a slow day. Much of it I spent tinkering with the
poem. I must fess us; I don't write them in one day. Sunday was
an all-around family "ohmygoshtheweekisuponus," day. When I thought
the work was under control, there was a call to say that our friends
were catching an early plane and would be here for dinner. I must
say that the tuna I prepared was as good as tuna can be, with tiny
potatoes and tiny squash and fresh green beens and purple artichoke.
I had it again for dinner this evening and even re-
heated...fabulous. This would be the tuna that we bought from a man
on a boat in Newport before returning from our last trip to the
beach. If you freeze tuna in a bag of water, it comes out fresh as
fresh can be.
When we were a couple of bottles of wine into the meal, the phone
rang. I had already lined up one of our guests to deal with "the
piano problem." We are inheriting a grand piano. The piano moving
folk had called on Friday to say that they would deliver said
instrument on Monday between seven and noon. "But," I expostulated,
"this is when I work. Do I have no say in the matter?" Round and
round we went on what had been promised and what my options were--it
came down to this: take the offer, or leave it. Accept delivery of
the piano or have it pulled off the truck and try again in a month;
same rules and same risk of inconvenience. So the phone rang in the
middle of the meal and, unusually, we decided to answer it. The
piano guys had reached Salem and wondered if I would like the beast
that evening.
They arrived and started counting steps. This is how one pays piano
guys, by the step, not the weight or the distance from the road. I
had told them that there are but two steps, thinking they would like
to bring the thing by the shortest route. They were thinking that if
they used the gravel pathway as an excuse and walked the piano round
by the driveway, they could charge for five extra steps at so much
per. I asked them how long they had been on the road and wondered if
they would like a beer. I also told them I had lots of plywood in
the back yard that I would be quite willing to lend them, if it would
help. Suddenly they remembered that they had in the van a couple of
pieces of plywood and, with the offer of my help, they came to an
understanding: there was no more money to be made here and the best
path would be the gravel path.
Only when I tried to move the piano the next morning did I really
understand how strong these two fellows were. They put the thing of
a dolly but goodness...they lifted the beast over steps as if there
were nothing to it. And one of them did it in sagging trousers. Got
to look cool while doing feats.
So the piano has moved into the space that I cleared--a mere full
day's work of considerable lifting, and no one has yet said, "My gosh
is that thing ugly." What the relative did by simple neglect to the
piano should, in my humble view, be prosecutable, but the damage is
fortunately not highly visible. There is hope yet that we may keep
the beast.
Lest you begin to worry that I am about to suffer from tennis hubris,
let me set your mind at rest; this evening I played horribly.
The rest of my life has been taken up with meetings and with trying
to stay in contact with both girls as one struggles with the
beginning stages of the International Baccalaureate and the other
comes to terms with a high school that, in a mere three weeks, has
extinguished, squashed, trodden on all her passion and love of
learning. When piano ruining is finally acknowledged as a crime, we
should add denting and potentially squelching curiosity. A suitable
sentence I leave to you.
David Ritchie Portland, Oregon.
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