I finally decided that I was going to allow myself the luxury of a keyboard. A real, full, honest-ta-Gahd, 88 key keyboard.
I've spent money on the cats, the car, the Maisonette, my health, but nothing fun. Nothing I'd been yearning for, for forty years.
On-line, I went to Sam Ash Music's web site (semi-local chain). I like them because when I went in looking for an electric guitar, they were nice to me. I don't care if they were thinking that I was a pathetic middle-aged bat, they were really nice to me.
I found an $800 Yamaha electric keyboard. It was the cheapest one on the web site and it was a Yamaha and before Steinway went on its knees begging to Bruce Hornsby, Yamaha went begging and he accepted them.
Yes, it's true that I treated myself about ten years ago to a 60-something key keyboard, but no, I want the complete set. I want all 88 keys. I may not be able to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb", but I want all 88 keys in case I start channeling Bruce Hornsby, Leon Russell and Keith Jarrett. Who knows what mayhem could erupt?
When I lived with Xman, I briefly had a regular, true-life piano. Unfortunately, it had to be tuned every six months and I suspected one of the cats was peeing behind it. I left it at the house when I left and it was subsequently given to The Ho.
So I knew I wanted a keyboard that could be easily transported and never had to be tuned.
What bothered me about $800 Yamaha was that it had all kind of crap on it that I didn't want. No, I'm not going to compose my own music. No, I don't need this midi stuff. No, I don't want it to take off and play all by itself. The only person I want playing my piano other than me is Bruce Hornsby. (The reason I'm fixated on Bruce especially right now is because it's only 27 days until I see him in concert again.)
Why couldn't there be a very simple 88 key electronic keyboard? Why couldn't there be, like, an Amish electronic keyboard? Plain. No bells and whistles. Black. Requisite number of keys. How hard could it be? I just want to learn to play the piano. I don't want to put on a light show. Still, this seemed to be about the best I would do.
I walked into the keyboard department and there on a shelf, looking all homeless, dusty and sad, was my Amish piano. It was an old Yamaha war horse that had seen better days, but the action was good. It felt like a real piano. It was a little banged up, but it was good.
On the shelf over it was a brand spanking new Casio. It took some back-and-forthing, but in the long run, I went the plain way. The Casio had all kinds of crazy stuff on it I didn't need.
The Yamaha was used and $400, half of what I'd been prepared to pay and that's always a good thing.
So here it is, given pride of place in my house, in my study / office. Beneath "St. Jerome in His Study". Beneath the "Winter Park Authors in the Park" poster. Beneath the autographed photo of Bruce Hornsby. "Swing, baby, swing!" he wrote. Oh, how I'd love to.
And just for extra Becs goodness, Katy standing next to it.
As the guy from Sam Ash loaded the keyboard into my car, I thought, we'll take these axes. Piano, now. Tomorrow, the guitar.
