I recently became the owner of a piano.
sigh
I don’t play, nor do my children. It belonged to my grandmother. You see, my grandmother DID play the piano. She was an opera singer in her day, talented and beautiful. She was gifted this piano at fifteen years old and it’s been in her house ever since. She moved it from place to place as she grew up, got married, had children, and settled into adult life where she used it to teach lessons. It’s been in my family for almost 100 years. A piece of my childhood. An outdated instrument I remember banging on as a kid whenever I’d visit.
My grandma and I are very close. When my family was homeless, she took us in no questions asked. My grandfather had already passed on and she was alone. Yet, she settles into a room in her home and let us take over as if she was the visitor. Some of my best memories are from that time. Seeing her play with my children, and getting to know her on an adult level. We turned her quiet house into a toddler filled zoo and she never complained. Eventually, we moved on but I’ll always cherish spending that time with her.
Especially since she doesn’t know me anymore.
We first started noticing the Dementia about 3 years ago. It started off small. She’d forget things, grow flustered when she’d mix up my mom and aunt, lose her keys. Simple things like using the microwave became too difficult a task. She couldn’t figure out how to work a can opener. A few times, she put something on the stove then forgot about it. The decline was fast. Her bones grew brittle, she stopped being able to walk. Over time, it became increasingly obvious that she could no longer take care of herself. The house was too big and she was too far away. She couldn’t live there anymore.
I’ll spare you the gory details of unloading her old home and setting her up in a new one because, gosh, this was supposed to be a blog post about her piano and now I’m on the verge of tears here, so lemme wrap this history lesson up and move on. Jesus, that took a melancholy turn I hadn’t anticipated. Sorry about that!
I guess you can say I inherited her piano.
Turd brown was never my favorite color.
This thing is almost 100 years old looks every bit its age. The veneer is scratched and coming off on the side. That right baluster is hanging on by a thread. That bench doesn’t even match. (It’s not the one that came with the piano, but it’s the one that showed up at my house along with it.) And that’s just the outside! Under the lid, the keys are yellowed and chipped. It hasn’t been tuned in God knows when. The entire mechanism sounds like the Grinch’s Christmas carol - sad, menacing bells. My grandma’s pride and joy is crumbling in the corner of my house. It’s not right.
I can’t do much about the inside, but I started thinking maybe I can refinish the outside. (Sorry, Nicole. I did it. Muhahahaha) I love to paint shit — it’s just who I am — so I wasn’t too nervous about the job, but the idea of possibly destroying my antique piano definitely rang front and center in my mind. I googled “how to paint a piano” and watched a thousand different videos. I even called a professional piano shop to ask for tips. Pretty sure the guy I spoke to thought I was nuts (and probably wasn’t too happy that I was DIYing it instead of hiring him) but he was very helpful.
After all that, I decided on Heritage Tradition furniture paint. (Those damn Facebook ads get me every time!) This shit had amazing reviews but it was stupid expensive. I paid $30 for a “special” brush I probably could have gotten at Home Depot for half that. Sucker = me.
But it’s an all in one, self leveling formula. I wouldn’t need a top coat and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have to sand first. I did NOT want to do that for fear of the dust and stuff clogging up the mechanism. As it is, I’d wrapped everything special in Saran Wrap and masking tape. The keys, the back panel, the foot pedals, etc. Nothing is getting into this bad boy.
I started with HTP Deglosser, which is basically a fancy word for liquid sandpaper. The finish started to bubble the second I started slathering the shit on. After a minute or so, I wiped off all the years of built-up cigarette smoke, dirt, grime, and Pledge that was embedded in the wood. It was pretty gross.
Is it worth the money? Maybe? I dunno…
I’d chosen a dark charcoal gray to match my fireplace. It also compliments all the blue and white tones (Coastal Farmhouse Living Room post coming soon!) in the room but is still neutral enough that I should never have to paint it again. I applied it with a brush, then stippled it with a sponge to smooth out any brush strokes. It took longer and resulted in more coats, but it was worth it to achieve a nice even finish.
Both the piano and stool got a fresh coat of paint (or three) then I wrapped that nasty brown leather with some leftover fabric to give it a pretty update.
I legit cannot stop looking at it. I sent my mother a pic and she cried. I mean, I don’t know if it’s tear-worthy work, but perhaps in some weird way breathing new life into this old piano is akin to breathing new life into my grandma as well. A fresh update, a fresh memory. Even if she can’t remember me, I will always remember her.