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Tomorrow morning I am returning my piano.

Okay, to be fair, two muscular French guys–probably the same ones who delivered it–will be returning it for me.

Let’s take a look at the aforementioned instrument, shall we?

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I’m a little sad about this. On the one hand, I have to get this done now, because I’m only in Paris for about six days in August, during which time I don’t anticipate using my piano much. I decided it would be best to have it removed at the end of July so that I wouldn’t have to pay for August–and also because I dropped my “love potion” necklace behind it and would like it back, but can’t move the piano by myself (a combination of weak arms, carpeting and no wheels on the piano). So there’s that.

But my piano has also, for a paltry 40 euros a month, been a source of comfort, a great way to kill some time, a study tool, a bookshelf, and a friend. I think I’ve improved my piano skills this year (an added bonus!) just by virtue of having nothing else to do when the internet disappeared, or when it was still light outside at 9 PM and I didn’t feel like going out or being social. And as I mentioned once before, I love that I’m capable of making music in a way that doesn’t involve my voice. Yesterday, for instance, I had already practiced productively in the morning and done quite a bit of extra singing, just ’cause, but the evening was creeping on apace (as they say), and all I could think of to do was make music. So I played. Not well, mind you; I am inclined to give what Mr. Rochester calls every school-girl’s answer to the question “Do you play?”: “A little, and very ill.” But sometimes when I can sit down and sight-read a piano score, however poorly, I remember how many people in the world can’t play the piano at all, and I’m grateful.

I tell you this because part of my plan for today involves cleaning my room to make a path for the piano-removal guys to exit. It’s not really that messy, as I’ve been slowly but surely disposing of my belongings (mostly by way of the post office, where I seem to become an unofficial French-English interpreter every time I go in), and there is just a little clutter left. My goal is to get it down to things I’m leaving/giving away/selling/throwing out and things I’m packing into my two enormous suitcases to take home at least before I leave for Dijon, if not before Buxton (Monday, yikes!).

So that’s that. One more day with my beloved piano, so I think I’ll go play for a bit. In my pajamas. Quelle chance!

Bisous,
Anne

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