It is Tuesday 24th of January; 24/01/12 in Ireland but very confusingly 01/24/12 in America, which always dashes my hopes when I have to catch up with television series over Sidereel. But apart from the next episode of Vampire Diaries being released this week, I have other news. Exciting to me, sending a burst of delight pumping through my veins straight from the heart when my mind takes a turn back to the imminent arrival of the new edition to my life. That would be a piano, if you are wondering.
Now, you may ask me (and rightly so) what's so great about a piano? Or maybe you're sharing in my joy, knowing how anxious I must be feeling in the present moment, without any other such thing on my mind apart from the wondrous beauty about to grace my life. I have no way of knowing whether you are the puzzled or whether you've been through what I'm going through right now unless you comment, so I will continue.
To give you a little background, I started piano at about the age of seven or eight and since then I've dutifully practised every night (give or take). Now, it wasn't intentional despite how boastful that sounds -I was an ignorant child in the way that I didn't really question anything I was told to do by superiors adding to the fact that I have this annoying and irrational mechanism of my personality that gives me a desire to please the elders. Such practising paid off, as it usually does (keeping in mind 'practise makes perfect', which unfortunately is true), I am now finishing up on Grade Eight with the Royal Irish Academy of Music -it's not a prestigious school, it's a music board, for those of who think I may be some sort of elitist.
My over-generous aunt decided to buy me a piano, because recently I had resolved to save up for a digital piano -wanting to upgrade from my barely-in-tune third-hand piano. She saw how much I came to love piano over the years and deemed me good enough, with recommendation from my piano teacher, to receive such an expensive but undeniably useful and invaluable gift. So, since Saturday I have been awaiting this magnificent beast.
The man in the shop, with a grin once he saw how shocked and taken aback I was by all of this, said that it would be "mid-week before we deliver it, probably Wednesday or Thursday" and that they would "ring one or two days in advance". Monday evening, after school -"Did they ring about the piano?" But my father shook his head as he did earlier today. And so, it is not coming tomorrow -Wednesday.
I know this, but for some reason I still harbour this uplifting feeling of hope in my heart that tomorrow I will come home and my father will say "Your piano arrived!" And I would fling my schoolbag away and run down to hug this symbol of promise to my breast, savouring in the knowledge that it is mine, and mine only. I would then sit down and play through every song I ever learnt, to test each one in its crisp, clear, piano sound. It's sort of comparable to the feeling you get on Christmas Eve, the anxious waiting before the present reminiscent of childhood dreams in which you check guiltily to see if the present somehow have come before the due date.
And such, is still the feeling that runs around within me; I chose to share it with you because it would help somewhat to relieve at least a little bit of the pre-piano tension and excitement within me. I say a little bit, because my face still lights up whenever I think of it.
Thank you for reading or enduring my random (and decidedly long) stream of thoughts,
Arma.
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