Sight Unseen

Zelda will celebrate her 100th birthday next year. I've promised her she will sing again on her big day. Her high notes will tickle the ears and her lows will roar. Her middle register will be sonorous, mellow yet bold.

You see Zelda is a 5'2" Knabe baby grand, serial number 68717, born 1910 in Baltimore, Maryland. Her finish is so distressed from time it's difficult at present to discern whether she's mahogany or walnut; but her bones are good. When you climb underneath it's easy to see a sound board in near perfect condition, slightly bowed upward as it should and verified by a voice almost human in quality. Not surprisingly, she is a bit out of tune. Her ivory keys have mellowed over the years to a light cream. The action is uneven. And, alas, her lyre has dropped to the floor. Currently, the sustain, sostenuto and piano pedals are only a promise, not a reality. Ah, but her harp is still golden. Despite her age there's hardly a bit of dust inside. I think someone may have loved her once.

Zelda came into my life on September 2nd quite unexpectedly -- and sight unseen.

I've been looking for an affordable place here in Key West for several months, not an easy task. And thought I'd found it early in August -- a sweet little three-room cottage -- only to discover it had been rented the day before I called my friend Connie, who is the owner. Several weeks went by as I continued my search.Then one Sunday morning the person who had rented it asked me if I knew yet where I would be living. As it turned out, he had decided to back out of the deal. He really didn't have confidence Connie could clear out the place in time for his move date -- besides half the front room was taken up (as he put it) by this ghastly old piano she couldn't even give away.

My ears perked up! I called the next day and arranged to meet Connie at the cottage on Wednesday, September 2nd. Zelda did indeed loom large in the cozy room as we talked about the possibility and timing for a lease agreement. But priority number one was to secure the cottage before someone else walked in and swooped it away from me. And, honestly, though I hadn't heard her voice it was if I could hear Zelda croon from the corner where she was covered in boxes "buy me, buy me, too."

I did. Once the handshake was made for leasing the cottage, I offered to buy Zelda on the spot so she could stay in her home. I brought Connie a check for Zelda before I had ever opened her lid or climbed under her soundboard.

On the surface of things buying Zelda sight unseen is a horrible business decision -- I can hardly afford her. But her silent voice kept singing in my mind. Only after the check changed hands did I take the boxes off the cover and touch her keys. Though frail, she still has a voice -- one I'm certain can be strong and sure again.

But no one in the Keys is qualified to restore Zelda. The closest registered piano technician is 150 miles away in Miami. In fact there are only 18 such people in all South Florida. So even if I could afford to pay someone to do the work, it simply isn't a logistic possibility. The only way she's going to get her voice back is if I learn how to do all the work. And since she's an old girl, the work needs to be not only gentle but perfect.

The night after I gave Connie the check for Zelda I simply couldn't sleep. The words kept drumming in my head, "I have a piano again." But restoring her is going to be a monumental effort. Then it dawned on me -- Zelda wasn't singing just to save her. She was singing to save me. Restoring her voice will give me all the skills I need to re-create myself over the next few months. It will, I believe, give me the next career I've been searching for.

It was 09/09/09. Not being able to sleep forced me out of bed. I started looking through domain registries for a name...the first I thought of -- keystuning.com -- was available. I bought it without even knowing what I would do with it.

Then obsession. How can I learn how to make Zelda sing? The only answer; I have to become a registered piano tuner and technician myself. So I've been researching different schools, reading about the Piano Technicans Guild over the past few days. And I've made a decision --over the next year, not only am I going to give Zelda back her voice; I'm going to reclaim my life.

So I've writtten another check. Again, one I can barely afford, but I've a feeling it's going to be one of the best investments I've made for years. It's a check to the Randy Potter School of Piano Technology -- sounds hokey -- but from everything I've read, short of being in residence for learning the trade, it's the best thing of its kind out there. I'm waiting a few days to mail it just to make sure I really haven't gone mad. But there's something that tells me learning to save Zelda is really all about saving myself -- sight unseen.

By the way, we start co-habitation on November 3rd.