Our piano tuner came today. He tunes our piano twice a year. That’s more often than I get an hour to myself. That’s more often than we eat tuna. Actually, I never serve tuna.
(Back to the story) I barricaded myself in the school room to appear to be holding school, even though that’s impossible when a piano tuner is pounding on the piano keys and tweaking the long strings. It’s like living in Professor Higgins’s house hearing Eliza Doolittle’s vowels over and over.
(Back to the story) Midway through the tuning, he stopped. He went to his car for additional tools. The next thing I knew, the piano was in pieces all over the room: keys, hammers, you name it… everywhere. He’s only taken the piano apart one other time and this is always disconcerting. Somewhere in my head I am entertaining questions like, “What if he forgets how to put it back together?” or, “What if he forgets a piece?”
I decided we had to take drastic action. So as to not appear concerned, I decided to teach science in the kitchen, directly across from him so we could keep an eye on him and the poor dismembered piano. We built an electroscope and I tried to sound engaged and scientific. That’s my new word with Daniel, “Daniel,” I say, “You need to act engaged in what I’m asking you to do. No more slumping over.”
Here is the electroscope (which I keep trying to type, “spectroscope”):
It’s actually very cool. Trust me.
After the surgery on the piano (sigh… there were wood shavings on the floor!) he put the piano back together and I snuck a picture. It’s not every day that you see a grand piano taken apart. All is well. The keys are resting evenly in their piano bed.
And though we didn’t have a stellar school day, we did build an electroscope, read about frescoes and Pompeii, and finished our work later in the afternoon.
