Ferrell told me he had kept an even larger piano, an eight-footer, for a long time. It had belonged to Walt Disney. But he recently sold it to the Carlton Hotel in Atascadero because he just did not have room for it.
He asked me how much I will play this piano. Suggested that I might think about selling it.
As he and his helpers worked it down the hall two days later I thought about this. All this trouble to get this piano in my house and for what? Will it just sit there, taking up space? Will half of my bedroom be devoted to storage?
When I saw it there, though, I just loved looking at it.
It is beautiful. That alone seemed to make it worth while. But then, when all the excitement died away and I was alone in my room I started to play it. My fingers were stiff and arthritic and I didn't remember much, so I just played around with various chords and variations of those chords, making somewhat new-agey music. I looked around on my shelves and found some music, a theme and variations by Handel, and I played around with it a bit. Still stiff and stumbling. Little by little I started to pull a little feeling out of it, in spite of the stumbling and missed notes.
It wasn't long before I realized that I didn't have to be a top-notch pianist for it to be worth having this in my house. It is enough that I love it and that I love to play it and it makes me happy. Over the past several days I have gravitated back to it several times, have found more music, and I am playing better already, and it's more than I had hoped for.