Things I like about the New House

  1. No elephants trampling about upstairs and moving cinderblocks and 50 gallon barrels at 7:00 a.m.
  2. My next door neighbors are also Burners. Only 117 more days ’till the Man burns!
  3. The landlord owns a very cool Gay bar and there’s a chance for a piano gig at the end of the proverbial rainbow. Miss R started out her professional career playing piano in the Long Beach Gay bars. It would be a nice full circle kind of touch doncha think?
  4. There’s a patio that DOESN’T resemble Little Tijuana in the slightest. I even have a patch of dirt (I shall command it to be grass soon) of my very own.
  5. The neighbor’s cat gives Lizzie Borden something to obsess on during her lazy days perched in the window.
  6. There’s room for a grand piano in this place!
  7. The windows are strategically placed for maximum sunshine in the mornings. It does a morose and misanthropic soul good with a cup of fresh coffee.
  8. I can play Ziggy Stardust at Maximum Volume as per directed on the album cover. There’s also room to dance around in a scantily clad manner given my mood.
  9. No one takes my parking space. It’s mine all mine I tell you!
  10. My 1930’s and 40’s antique pieces go perfectly in this old cottage. Much funkiness is to be had despite the lack of closet space and noticeable lack of electrical outlets.

Things I Miss About the Old Place

  1. I knew where everything was
  2. ummmmmmmm okay that’s it.

~Miss R

Currently Listening to:

Jimmy Eat World
Clarity

A Grand Situation

I’m drinking a lousy Starbucks coffee but it was purchased under duress.
Well, more like stress than duress but what the hell.

Had to have more bloodwork done this morning, so I was out and about at 8:00 a.m. Since there’s a 12 hour fast required prior to the blood draw I couldn’t make my pot of coffee before I left the house. Hence the stale, burnt, bitter Starbucks.
Not that I think that their coffee is garbage. I don’t.
I think it’s shit.

I’ve been lacking in motivation the past ten days and was sick two days last week. I actually went to see a doctor (hate that, having no health insurance) which is why more blood work was instigated.
This lack of motivation has been inspired by some other causes than those of a physical nature. Such as this one!

The phone rings Thursday night and it’s my step-mother. Seems she’s sold Dad’s house. This was unexpected as the gingerbread manse was priced at a million bucks and is located in Idyllwild; that ephemeral mountain town of few people, beautiful forests, snow-covered peaks, no stop-lights, and my old life.

Here’s the problem. Now that dad’s house has been sold I have less than 40 days to get the concert grand piano (oh it’s bigger than a baby grand trust me) into my possession in Reno.
Uh oh. There’s barely enough room for me in this apartment.
In reality this means that I have less than 40 days to find a new home.

I’ve seen a few places out there and so far nothing I can afford or deem safe.  I’m supposed to go and look at a house today. It’s owned by an acquaintance who’s moving out of state and it sounds perfect. Fabulous location, landscaped yard, plenty of room for my daughter, myself, the grand piano, keyboards and antiques as well.
Everything except for one small detail. The rent is almost double what I can afford.
There’s potential though: The house is supposed to be split into two parts, with both having their own entrances. Theoretically this means I could rent the house and sublet half of it.
This frightens the hell out of me. For good reason.

Donna told me to ’take a chance!’ and do it.
I don’t know. It seems that every time I’ve taken a chance recently, well in the past year or so, my luck hasn’t been that great. In fact it’s been lousy and I’m tired of being beat up. Or better yet, beating myself up. The bruises take a long time to heal and while I look good in black, blue just isn’t my color.

In case you’re thinking ’Rachael why don’t you sell the piano and buy a smaller one or simply consider leaving the piano in Idyllwild?’ I’ll tell you that there’s no way.

For one thing it is the sole thing that my father left to me. That piano is alive. It’s more than a gorgeous piece of furniture. It’s more than a musical instrument. It’s more than a piano… which for me is saying volumes.
This Knabe grand has been in the family since the 1930’s. My father learned to play on it. I can remember him playing when I was a little girl and this is what inspired me to learn. When I was a teenager and would visit him on the weekends this piano saved my life. His family then (a psycho step-mother and her psycho brood) were very cold and hostile towards me but I could always escape at the keyboard and into my music.
My father knew this. We shared the gift and love of music through this physical thing made of wood and strings.

So it will stay with me. When I die it will go to my daughter. I hope so anyway. It would be a good legacy. There is no gift so fine as music and memories.

I’ll let you know how the house hunt goes.
Oh, and if you reside in Reno and know of a 2 bedroom place with a living room large enough for a grand piano then please do contact me.
Soon.
Really really fucking soon.

~Miss R