Some Magic and a Steinway in my Living Room

Every few months I get treated to a private concert in my living room.

It's not scheduled. There's no ticket. It just happens whenever my piano tuner shows up.

He's a pro, not just at tuning but at playing. And not just playing. Playing jazz. Gorgeous, tingly, make-you-swoon jazz that floats up the stairs while I'm pretending to work. Sometimes I wonder if he loves my Steinway as much as I do. He settles in like it's a long-lost friend, tinkers, tunes, and then drifts into full-blown performance mode. It's like having the Green Mill in my living room. Free entertainment. I swear I owe him a cover charge.

This piano has a story.

About 25 years ago I had an upright Yamaha. Beautiful, but I knew what I really wanted: a satin black Steinway grand. I could see it. I could feel it. One day I stood with my son Michael at one end of the living room and pointed to the empty space on the other side.

"I want a Steinway right there. It's going to sound delicious. You, Natalie, and Daniela are going to take lessons on it. You'll play for me, and this piano will become the heart of our home."

Three weeks later it was there.

My piano teacher had a client looking to sell one. She'd just bought another and was incredibly motivated. I got it for half of what it was worth. I had it appraised and it was in my budget, barely. But I knew it was meant to be. It was the most beautiful thing I owned then. It still is.

All three of my kids took lessons on it. Michael grew up to be a musician and composer. One day this piano will be his.

Maybe that's the real magic. Not just that the piano showed up — but that years later it's still filling our house with music, memories, and proof that sometimes when you ask the universe for something delicious, it answers with perfect pitch.