Today was such an unexpected adventure.I'll spare you some of the details, lest this blog drag on forever.
Suffice it to say that this week my friend Shawn happened to encounter this adorable light green piano -- and thought of me immediately.
He sent a pic to my phone, and I fell instantly in love. The sign on it said, "Free to a Good Home," and I wanted it to come into none other than my own.
Solidly-built antique pianos sell for several thousand dollars on eBay. How could this be free?! I threw on clothes and immediately went to visit it at Highland Presbyterian Church. They were getting rid of it, the custodian explained, because they were doing renovations and didn't feel like moving it. Later, I would come to understand this sentiment more.
This was the piano that used to be in the pre-school classroom, they explained. It had been in the classroom since at least the 1970s, although the piano itself was probably made in the early 1900s. Just imagine all the happy songs it once played and the little ears that once enjoyed listening to it!
I peeked inside the top cover to see that it was made by the Keller-Dunham Piano Company. It's musical parts were none other than the world-renowned, top-of-the-line Wessel, Nickel, & Gross who--for many, many years--created the best piano action that money could buy. And the piano's serial number was a delightful composite: 34556.So I began to research my options. For a few thousand dollars, they could "crane it up" to my living room window and toss it in, hoping for no crash-bang mishaps a-la the Three Stooges. Or, the piano could be deconstructed and then rebuilt once upstairs for many hundred dollars. Or, for just $300, a bunch of Amish men could use nothing but their bare hands. I went for the latter.
What I didn't expect was how quickly Mr. Stoltzfus would want to get this job done. "How about tomorrow morning?" he nearly begged. So I went with it.
Matt met us at the church (since, as a youth pastor, he's got a key), and the four Amish guys growled like agressive dinosaurs as they pushed the 500-pound beast onto the metal ramp and up into the truck. This Phase One of the move was successful, thank God. And, on the drive from the church to my apartment, Andy--who was sitting in my passenger seat--poised the following question to me: "So what will you do if they can't get it up?"
I had no Plan B. According to my calculations, it should surely fit. But if it was too heavy to get up, I had no idea what the backup plan would be.
The movers were sans equipment of any kind (which was careless on their part), and so hoisting it up a flight of 14 steps with just bare hands, arms, and backs was an unattainable feat. As the dinosaur growling increased in volume, I eventually blew the whistle on the operation. That's it for today, boys. Take it elsewhere.So where was it to go?
Conveniently, Andy always wanted a piano, and he was standing in my living room watching the whole ordeal going down below, so shall we take it to his place? At once, the excitement transferred from my face to Andy's, and off we all went to Lititz.
So my adorable green Edward now sits proudly in Andy's livingroom, waiting there for me for several weeks, a few years, or maybe forever. In the meantime, Andy is the lucky one who is practicing his music. And there is nobody more deserving.
