Generational Traditions

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I’ve mentioned to you before about the many childhood weekends I would spend at my Grandparents house, eating meals around the Formica table and playing cards until all hours of the night with my beloved Grandma.  Almost every story about them revolve around some sort of mischief my grandmother and I would get into that would culminate in one of us me rolling around on their ugly brown rugs, laughing so hard we could barely breathe.

My grandfather’s role in these weekends was that of best supporting actor.  He forever played the straight man for my grandmother’s various antics and served as the voice of reason for our late night endeavours - with the exception of the KFC surprise night, of course.

There was another side to my strict and practical grandfather, though, that came out each night at bedtime.  Perhaps in an effort to quell the stimulating effects my grandmother had had on me all day, or maybe just to show me affection in his own unique way, my grandpa would tuck me into the blue bed a the end of the hallway and then sit down and play the organ for me until I fell asleep.

I can remember clearly the thin, peely, blue duvet cover and the tiny crack of light that would stream through the bedroom door; I always insisted he leave it open a crack so I could be sure to hear him play.

I have no idea how long he would play for, but I remember the calmness and sweetness of those moments, lying perfectly still, trying desperately to stay awake so I could hear his organ playing until the very end…

I am happy to report that the grand piano that I bought on kijiji has made its way safely to our new house and has now since been exposed to the more sophisticated works of Beethoven and Chopin (in addition to the occasional round of Old MacDonald Had a Farm, of course - -a classic is a classic…)

Seeing as it is in the very front open room of our house, its majestic sound echoes through every crevice and room of our house when it is played.  I don’t think I’ve ever played something with such a gorgeous sound, but having young kids around means limiting my playing time to be that of awake time…when the kids are both preoccupied and not in need of my attention…which doesn’t amount to much! I often play for them on weekend mornings while sipping my coffee, or after dinner when we feel like dancing to some music.  Tonight, I tried a new technique

As I was putting Mia down for bed I asked her if she’d like me to play her a song while she went to sleep.  She thought that sounded like an EXCELLENT idea, but knowing Mia it was probably just a calculated scheme to get to stay awake later…Toby thought it was a good idea, too and even suggested I start with Chopin’s Raindrops Prelude because it was raining out.

I sat down and played Chopin’s Raindrops prelude to the quiet darkness of a house post bedtime with the soft sounds of the rain in the background.   I finished the piece with a pause before I heard in the background the sounds of Toby holding his breath from the top of the stairs.

“Mommy…” he whispered cautiously, “Could you please play me something else?”

I was so touched by his enthusiasm that I neglected to reprimand him for being out of bed.

“Sure, honey” I responded, “What else do you want to hear?”

“Ooh…BEETHOVEN.” He said, “One of the ones that go LOUD and then SOFT.  And THEN I want to hear the Moonlight sonata.  Cause it’s night time and the MOON is out…”

It was JUST what I was in the mood to play.

As I was about to sit down and play my son’s sweet requests he whispered one last thing to me,

“Mommy…” he said (still at the top of the stairs…he is a master bargainer, this one…)

“Yes, Toby” I said from the piano bench

“…. I just wish you could play for me all night long.” He said in the most earnest and genuine way possible.  “I just love listening…”

As I sat down to play my son some Beethoven to fall asleep to, I was overcome with happiness and contentment at the ingenious the circle of life.

For the first time in a long time I thought of my grandfather.  I have such fond memories of his organ playing, but was suddenly hit with a new appreciation for it, seeing it now from the other side.  I don’t know if he knows how much I enjoyed it, but I sincerely hope I thanked him enough for all the hours he spent playing for me, and I hope I did so with the same unadulterated excitement that Toby now has for mine.  I’m so thankful for the good, simple things in life that can be passed down from generation to generation…

Kijiji and Me

I have made many amazing discoveries on Kijiji.  I have bought everything from a snow blower, to used kids toys, to tickets to TFC games on the site.  Even Zack (our dog) came from kijiji.  My kijiji obsession has saved me countless dollars, fostered a plethora of unlikely friendships and taken me on some interesting road trips across Southern Ontario. 

It always starts with a casual thought; “Hmmm…wouldn’t Rob love it if I surprised him with a snow blower for Christmas” or “Mia’s getting to the age where she might like a real doll house."  Even “I think our family might be ready to get a dog…’”

The passing thoughts are then followed by a bedtime “quick look” on my iPad followed by a harmless response to one or two adds.  

And then I’m on a mission.

These missions USUALLY culminate in one pivotal moment when I’m hooked and declare THIS VERY __________ (insert current kijiji item of obsession) as the VERY BEST one in ALL of Ontario.  And I then need to buy it INSTANTANEOUSLY before ANYONE ELSE discovers it.  My causal search then takes a nose-dive into frantic.  The very last step in my lunacy culminates in a very responsible text to my husband “I’m going to be late tonight.  If I don’t come home give this address to the police.  I’m off to buy a ______!!! (Fill in the blank)

At first Rob wasn’t all too thrilled about my texts.  The first time, just as I was about to ring the doorbell to see the set of kids’ skis I so desperately wanted, he called me and demanded to know where on earth I was and what the hell I was doing. I reassured him that I was in a suburb in the middle of Horseshoe Valley with very poor cell phone service but I would call him as soon as I had my hands on the most PERFECT pair of used skis for Toby.

He has since gotten used to my spontaneously creepy warning texts and has chalked it up to one of the many thrills of being married to me.

I think.

I have also met some very kind people on my kijiji quests.  Buying Rob a snow blower for Christmas one year when I was 8 and a half months pregnant was particularly memorable and stands out in my memory as one of my greatest purchases, one of my MOST poorly thought out plans and one of my greatest feats of pregnancy.  (Which says a lot when the grand finale of the whole thing is to expel an 8-pound child out of…) 

I digress.

  The 80-year-old man who sold me his snowblower took one look at my belly and then very kindly offered to call his daughter over to help us move it into my car.  I don’t know how I had THOUGHT I was going to hoist the 500-pound machine into the back of my Rav 4.  All I knew was that I had to get it home by 5pm so that I could hide it before Rob got home.

The man’s daughter had a broken leg but she pulled her weight better than the old man and my bulging belly.  Between the three of us invalids, we managed to get it in the car and he even gave me some blood stained blankets he had lying around in his garage so that it didn’t scrape up the back seat of my car on the way home.

I didn’t ask.

This week I went on one of my favourite kijiji missions ever: I bought our family a lovely baby grand piano.

I have been looking around for a while and had my eye on this one in Barrie for quite some time.  As all things go with kijiji and me there came a day (which happened to be this Monday afternoon) when it suddenly clicked and I could wait no more.  I called the owner and arranged a STAT visit.  I phoned a moving company who promised to deliver it the very next day (assuming I bought it) and I left work early to head out on the road to check out my latest discovery and seal the deal.

I took one step into the man’s house and knew instantly that this was the piano for us.  It was gorgeous.  The man was a violinist.  I bonded with him for the first 15 minutes as we talked about music and sound and pianos and acoustics.  I felt the need to prove to him that I was worthy of his beautiful and beloved piano and we shared countless stories of our mutual love of music and piano and he admired my ability to play the French horn and I marveled at his ability to play the violin.

He made a big show of opening up this beautiful piano.  He raised the huge black mahogany lid and lit the candle-like light that stood on top of it.  He pushed the pristinely polished black leather bench forward and then ushered to me with a graceful hand motion.

“It’s yours.  Play.”

After all that build up, I put my bag down, rolled me sleeves up, sat down and positioned myself on the bench.

I had forgotten to bring my music.

He looked at me expectantly.

Being a mom of young children, there is only one song I know by heart.

I put my head down, lowered my hands onto the beautiful keys and began to play.  And soon the beautiful baby grand piano filled his house with the sweet sounds of….

Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

I played it first at Middle C.

Then I played it up a few octaves to try out the high notes.

Then I played it down a few octaves to try out the low notes.

I am QUITE sure that the man, at this point, thought I was a complete LUNATIC, trying out the various cadences of Old MacDonald on his big fancy grand piano.

If I had anyone I knew well with me I could have made a joke of it,

“And now the SCARY VERSION” I could have said before playing it on the low notes.

“And now the FAIRY VERSION!!” before playing it on the high notes.

But I couldn’t.  This man was far too sophisticated for that kind of joking.  And I was about to make far too large of a purchase to do so without testing out each and every key, even if it meant having to play Old MacDonald 6 times in 6 different octaves in order to make sure I hit every note on the piano at least once.

My testing complete, I was happy to say that each and every key on that lovely grand piano worked quite nicely and can adequately carry the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm.

My children will be pleased.

As for the lovely owner of the piano, I'm not so sure... he accepted my cheque with tears in his eyes.

He’s a kijiji novice, apparently.

I promised to send him a picture of his piano once we had it in our house.  He nodded silently, still probably wishing the last few notes he had heard out of his baby hand't been "e-i-e-i-o".

Perhaps if I had been a wee bit more prepared and actually taken some music with me I could have avoided the embarrassment of my Old MacDonald playing.  But that’s part of the excitement of my kijiji buying.  You just never know where or to whom it’s going to take you next.  I’m already looking forward to my next adventure…