Saturday, August 20, 2011

Writing Flashback

I used to write more poetically on a regular basis. I haven't done that in years. I recently was re-reading my SubJournal (remember when those were popular?) and found some pieces that are representative of my writing style when I am simply capturing a memory for myself. Enjoy!

The Piano Tuner came to our house before I left for school. His real name is Carl, but that seems too ordinary for a magician. He is the Piano Tuner. You wouldn't take him for a musician at first. There is no dreaminess or creative aura around his large frame. He is a big man, and if you chose a profession based on appearance, your first bet might be mechanic. Like the rest of him, his hands are big and strong. But here is where the magic begins. They are strong as if each muscle has been toned to the perfect size and strength for its job. There is nothing to excess as you watch him tune each chord so carefully, knowing that one note off pitch can ruin a symphony. And when the Piano Tuner has completed his work, he begins the game. Those hands that seem so large and out of place among the fragile chords now leap up and down the keyboard, first running in a furious game of scale slides then shifting moods to dance music. The Piano Tuner can play anything and the piano seems more like an extension of himself than a separate instrument to be pushed and pulled into making the correct sounds. And then the Piano Tuner packs up his equipment, puts the piano back together, and goes into my livingroom to have a cup of coffee with my Dad. And suddenly, the Piano Tuner is gone, and only Carl remains... a man like many others, with strong political views, who once worked for General Motors with my Dad. And try as I might, I cannot see the Piano Tuner any more. But I know he was there and when I play my music again, I can tell that the Piano Tuner was at my house, because there is still just a trace of magic.

Adirondack Sunrise

I woke up early, when no one else had dared to leave a sleeping bag to face the morning chill. There was nothing to do after I had my bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Reduced Sugar! and so I made my way down to the lake, hoping to catch some sunshine. The sun was in short supply on the shore where I sat, curled up on a stump and trying to keep as much body heat as possible. But all across the lake, the mist rose slowly, swirling in lazy curls just above the surface. I sat and watched, with my feet getting colder and the bottoms of my pajamas hanging wet against my legs. Occasionally a car passed on the road, or the birds spoke briefly, but for the most part it was just quiet and cold. Quiet, cold, and beautiful. I sat on the stump of log on that sandy beach and fell in love all over again. Some things are too beautiful to be mere coincidence. Sand. Water. Wood. Mist. Silence. Solitude. Love.


  1. Your Piano Tuner story really resonates with me (sorry for the pun). When I was a child a Piano Tuner came to our house and HE WAS BLIND. I was only about 6 yrs old and I was SO FASCINATED by what he was doing. BUT my mother wouldn't let me stay in the room and watch. And no one ever talked to me about either his piano skills or his blindness. Sad. I remember it so clearly and with such confusion.

  2. Wow, what an interesting memory! My husband has often said that anyone's biography would be interesting if written by a good author. The blind piano tuner memory should definitely go into your biography!