For as long as I can remember this has been a familiar view:
This piano has been one of the constants in my life. I've been playing on it since I was five years old, at least actual tunes that is. I was plinking out my own "music" long before that.
Yet this year, along with so many other things once constant, even the piano has changed. It no longer sits in my mom's living room, but in mine.
Don't ask me how I feel about that. You have a fifty-fifty chance of getting excitement or tears. At least I get the delightful chance to watch history repeat itself: