The Piano Tuner

I once read an internet exchange in which one of the participants was a stay-at-home mom. I can’t remember how it came up but she mentioned that it wasn’t like she was so lonely she carried on conversations with service people. I guess I’m that lonely. I’ve always enjoyed chatting with people who come to my house to fix my appliances or do construction work. I try to keep in mind that they are charging by the hour whether they’re working or talking but figure a few minutes here and there won’t cost me an arm and a leg. Most of them are interesting people who are part of my rural community, often with mutual interests such as the school or church. It would seem odd to me to not say anything to them while they were in my home.

One of my most frequent visitors in that category is the piano tuner. I don’t have my piano tuned as often as I ought, but I generally call him at least once a year unless my brother from Florida happens to be on one of his cross-country piano-tuning tours. It has probably been 20 years since the first time he tuned my piano and he and my brother are the only ones that have tuned it since that first time. He told me Tuesday that he’s 81 years old. Not surprisingly, mention of “the fields of Flander” will bring tears to his eyes. He occasionally speaks of the war, not frequently, but with a grief that has endured all the years since he served in Europe as a young man.

The piano tuner is an actor. He has played “Daddy Warbucks” and is an obvious choice for that role. He and his wife are frequently in plays at a small theater in our county seat. I’ve never met his wife and never seen him perform. Their next play is in June. I would like to make a point to be there for one of the performances. Maybe this time it will work out to do that.

The piano tuner is Catholic. He’s a family man. I think he told me Tuesday that his wife bore 12 children. Later I think he mentioned that they raised 11 children. He’s told me about his children enough over the years that I ought to know the count but it slips my mind. His children are multi-talented. Six of his girls sing the national anthem in four-part harmony at major sporting events in Indianapolis. Several have been or are professional musicians. He loves his children and is justifiably proud of them.

The piano tuner loves his wife. Every time he comes he tells me again about how petite she is, yet she raised those 11 children and is still going strong today. He knows that I’m a librarian and asked me Tuesday why I wasn’t working. I told him the library didn’t open until 1:00 pm. Then with a smile I pointed out that I actually was working, just not outside the home. That reminded him of the time someone asked his wife, “Oh, you don’t work?” Apparently, they didn’t think that raising 11 children counted as working. He finds her amazing.

The piano tuner likes to talk. He told me of the time he was at the national piano tuners conference and a young lady was speaking and said that when she went to a house to “talk to” a piano, she explained to the homeowners, that she could not talk and tune their piano at the same time and requested that they not bother her. He nudged the man next to him and noted that his response to that statement would be to ask her to leave. The reason he’s still tuning pianos at 81 is because of the people.

The piano tuner likes me. I try to choose tasks while he’s tuning that keep me within easy earshot of the livingroom. He takes occasional breaks and will make enough noise to draw me back for another short chat. Or he will call my name and ask me for something small such as a table knife or a cough drop. Tuesday he called me back to the room several times simply so he could tell me something that had crossed his mind. I didn’t mind. The tuning takes around an hour and a half including the chit-chat. I can generally get a few things done during that time and it only happens once a year or so.

I like the piano tuner. He’s an interesting person, different from my usual partners in conversation. Plus he likes me. As I wrote out a check to pay him Tuesday he said, “If I’ve never told you before, I’ll tell you now: You’re one of my favorite customers.” He’s told me that before. It still makes me feel good. I’m aware that I don’t always wear well with people. It’s nice to know that at least one person still enjoys talking to me after 20 years. His rates for making me feel good about myself are lower than a therapist and come with a piano tuning and interesting conversation. It’s not a bad exchange at all.

I hope that if I make it to 81, I can find ways to still be a blessing to those around me. Like the piano tuner.