When I was 9, we moved from Boxford, Massachusetts to North Grafton, Massachusetts.  With part of the profits from the sale of the old house, my mom purchased a piano and promptly enrolled all 4 of us kids in to piano lessons.

One by one my brothers managed to squirm out of them, leaving me the only kid left – and my mom insisted I couldn’t drop lessons because ONE of her kids was going to know how to play.

There were times I hated learning to play – and I never got to anywhere near an accomplished status – but I soon found it to be a solace and source of entertainment not only for me, but for my mom.  It was also an excellent way to get out of doing the dishes.

As a reward for my forced perseverance, the piano is now mine.  My mom has been storing it for me since my  divorce in 2003 – and now she wants to give it back.

As I look around my compact little rental house, I have no idea where to put it.  I would love to have it back, but there is just no room . . . .well, I guess there is room – but not where I want to put it.

I look forward to being able to play my piano again – but not the actual moving of said piano in to the place it’s going to need to go.  My friends will not love me, I’m afraid.