Been playing the piano for almost two hours. My dad’s Knabe concert grand needs to be tuned, as well as played. He rarely sits at the keyboard anymore.
First I trifled around with some blues riffs, a couple of Scott Joplin pieces and then dug around the bookshelf for some sheet music.
I miss my fucking piano. You can’t play ragtime or complex classical pieces on a synth without 88 keys.
Usually when visiting I’ll pack a cache of my own music; nothing sounds a fabulous to a pianist as music played on a grand. Hell, nothing feels as fabulous either.
This trip I forgot to pack any music. Also forgot jewelry, a comb, my marbles and anything useful.
Yet the suitcase was still full when I closed it.
So in my rifling I find some old books that were mine as a student. Holy shit! The old bat who was my first piano teacher has left an indelible mark after all. Her bright red notations still exist even as she has been worm food for probably 25 years.
Funny strange. So of course this compelled me to play through some Bach Inventions and a few Beethoven and Chopin Etudes and Bagatelles.
Then I found an old book of Broadway tunes and an even older book of Billy Joel music. Oh god I must have purchased this while in high school. Obviously I’d left these compilations behind during various forays to the homestead.
Jesus. I can still mangle through Root Beer Rag! Not quite sure how that happened since it’s been at least a year since I last tried to play it.
The poor bastard singing opera earlier must be having a fit of apoplexy about now, since the windows are open and the Knabe sits besides two open French doors.
Singing and playing Suburban Showdown brought a crack to the vocals and tears to my eyes. Had forgotten the line in there “I only came to say good-bye and I won’t be back again…”
It’s already occurred to me that this is the real reason I’m here. To say good-bye to my family. I know it intuitively and have known since this trip was discussed.
My father’s 75th birthday is in early November and there is a party planned.
It’s doubtful I’ll be here for that so I’m grateful for this week to spend time with him.
We’ll go to AA meetings together, and out to dinner, and he’ll be his usual quiet strangely neurotic self.
Tomorrow after being poked and prodded and slid through machines that go bzzzzzzz and clunnnnnnk we’ll come back up the mountain. The next day I’ve an appointment with a different doc for blood tests and medication reviews.
I’ll surely be pulled off the Xanax. Fuck. Well, seeing as how it’s non-addictive and I’ve been on it for 10 years there’s no way that anyone would be concerned about that.
Will probably be taken off of every damned med that is currently coursing through my body and these will be replaced with different meds to course through said vessel. Actually there aren’t that many in my bloodstream these days. Went off a few myself (betcha didn’t know I was an MD) but have had no replacements now that the insurance went bye-bye. Not that this could have anything to do with the past two months of malaise, depression and suicidal ideation.
Quit smoking again and have been on the fucking Commit again for two days. There’s supposed to be a new trial med to help get off nicotine. Unfortunately the doc responsible for this is in the hospital. Argh.
It would be nice to ditch that final addiction before leaving this place.
The current medication prescribed to wean a smoker of the coffin nails is Wellbutrin.
Can’t take that one. It throws me into a manic phase; which while great for weight loss is bad on the teeth. Grinding one’s molars while staring at the television until dawn is not an especially pleasing way to pass the time. No siree.
Okay it’s back downstairs. Am going to try and concentrate for 10 minutes and read.
It could happen.
Besides, the phone has rung twice and every time I’ve hustled down the spiral staircase to find the damned phone the caller has already hung up.
Bastards say I.