The Day the Music Died

I put it off just because of the hassle. I knew my box of piano music was somewhere in our outdoor storage unit. But there are boxes piled on top of boxes in there. I had already looked through the easy-to-access ones . . . I clearly was not going to find what I wanted without going to a stinkin’ lot of effort to pull out a lot of crap and seriously dig.

But this afternoon, the weather was lovely, I had energy from a week off of school, and I had time. So, I started digging and moving and shoving and searching and THERE IT WAS. At the bottom of a stack in the back. Of course.

Not until later this evening did I open the box. I had already been looking in the piano corner to see where I could store my stash now in the new house. Some would go in the piano bench, but only a few things would fit there. I have a basket sitting by the piano that has been holding blankets (yes, we still cover up with blankets inside in South Texas) – that would work for a while until I figured out something better.

Just opening the cardboard flaps and looking at the spines of the books set my heart a-flutter. Old sheet music from when I accompanied the choir in high school. Books of offertory arrangements, hymns and contemporary songs, that I’d used in two or three churches over the years. Copies of solos I’d played in my final years of piano lessons: Kabalevksy, Toch, Mendelsohn, Khatchaturian . . .This stuff had been in storage for about two years – and even before that, I wasn’t in the mood to play piano much – so it had been a long time. I was already excited, trying to decide which book I would start with tonight. A nice way to close out my Valentine's Day.

I chose a book to pull out, and it wouldn’t budge. I tried another. They were stuck together. I gently tried to pry a couple apart and felt the paper covers ripping. So I stopped. That’s when I grabbed from the front of the stack my old Baptist Hymnal. 1975 Convention Press. The one we sang from in every service at University Baptist Church where I grew up and the one I’ve played from for more than forty years.

Ruined.

Apparently, the cardboard box got wet. I suspect a rodent might have gotten in there, also. That’s what I get for putting books in a cardboard box to store.

I sat on the floor by the box and pulled each piece of music apart, one at a time, trying to salvage as much as possible of the covers, and set them in piles – to toss, to try to find online, to think about. All ruined.

And the tears rolled down my face the whole time.

It’s just stuff. Just paper. Marks on a page. I shouldn’t be this upset. But I used these marks on a page to make music – music that I loved – music that I played for twenty years . . . thirty . . . forty . . . it ripped the heart out of me. I didn’t realize how much these songs meant to me until that moment.

My eldest slid down to sit by me on the floor while I tearfully worked, and she started looking up titles online. She found three. When I was done sorting, I found more. I started a shopping list on Amazon. It’s amazing how much piano music costs, especially copies of old music that aren’t in stock anymore. One book will set me back over $200 if I really decide I want to replace it. I won’t -- not at that price.

I ordered John Rutter’s “For the Beauty of the Earth” (concert choir, senior year) and Mark Hayes’ “We Are the Reason” collection. Then I found my beloved Baptist Hymnal, cried a little more, and ordered that, too. The others will wait. There are gift-giving holidays coming up, and my daughters always want to know what to give me.

I’ll ask for more plastic storage bins, too.