My mom and dad moved to Pleasanton in 1997. We moved from my dad's childhood homestead, where he and my mom had moved in a custom Wardcraft home shortly after they were married in 1989. The house they were moving into? A 1907 American Foursquare. I was around seven years old when we moved; I don't remember much of it. I remember the orange shag carpet and teal plastic barstools in the kitchen - groovy. I remember my parents showing me the upstairs, and letting me choose which of the two extra bedrooms I wanted. However, most of all, I remember the old upright piano sitting in one of the rooms downstairs. I was drawn to it immediately; I honestly don't think I'd ever even encountered one before that. I remember sitting on the bench, pushing two keys in unison, and it sounded like the start to Jingle Bells. How neat! I just couldn't figure out the rest of the tune. I thought, "How on earth does anyone know which keys to press?!" My parents must have seen my wanting to learn, maybe I begged them, I'm not sure how that all went down. But, fortunately for me, a piano teacher lived right across the gravel road behind our house. I began weekly piano lessons when I was seven years old. Little did I know, how much of a profound impact this would have on my life. Her name was Eunice. She was an older lady who taught half-hour lessons to a few kids when I had started. I remember not wanting to practice. I wanted to play songs! I longed to play Beethoven's Fur Elise that I'd heard my sister playing on the piano when she came to visit. Patience Katie, patience. Years went by, and those half-hour lessons commonly turned into 45-minute lessons. Eunice was my adopted grandma, and I was her only student. I took piano lessons until I was 16 years old - ending my sophomore year in high school - and felt like I just couldn't juggle so many activities anymore. Eunice had well prepared me, and I was able to classically train on my own. Now, not only was I able to play the coveted Fur Elise, but I could play the entire thing - something my sister could not do. (Ha!) When I lived at home, we didn't have cable TV or internet. To fill my time, I'd play the piano religiously every night while my parents sat in our front parlor and listened. I'd gone through all of the Alfred's piano books, and really took a liking to a series of books that had popular classical sonatinas, menuets, and etudes. Each year, I picked my contest song. My high school music teacher entered my piano solos into the district music contest, and I received a superior rating each time. When I went to college, I considered minoring in music, and Eunice encouraged it. I went to UNK one day, and played for the chair of the music program. She encouraged me to audition for the program, but listed titles of music that I should be playing, and it sounded like too much to take on; my heart wasn't in it. I greatly missed playing the piano during my college years. When I went home to visit, I always spent time with my old upright. I'd thumb through my favorite books and play until my hands were too tired. When Tyler and I bought our house, there wasn't a spot for a piano. I've always wanted a grand piano. Eunice had a grand piano - her nice piano - and I got to play it on occasion in the summertime when it was too hot for lessons on her upright in the porch. However, this house, our little white house, didn't even have a spot for an upright piano. My fingers and heart ached to play again; what was I going to do? When we remodeled our living room and took out that ginormous entry closet, it suddenly came to me; a piano can fit here. I called my mom, and asked if we could move my childhood piano to our little white house. It took four men and an enclosed trailer with expired license tags to move it out of my parent's house and into ours. My piano, made by "Erbe & Co." has a patent date of 1898. I don't know much more about it - I've researched online, there's nothing. I'm wondering if it was original to my parent's house, and nobody was ambitious enough to move it. It left marks in my parent's hardwood floors when it was moved. Once my piano came to live with me is when I really started practicing again, and renewed my love for my classical books. I even began practicing those pieces suggested to me by the UNK chair, and could play them well. However, with an old piano, she doesn't hold her tune very well. That's where my love for Scott Joplin came in. Scott Joplin was a ragtime composer during the late 1800s/early 1900s. You've heard it - it's in every western movie with the piano player in the saloon. Even better? I think Joplin's music sounds fantastic on my slightly out-of-tune piano. Having kids always turns your life upside down. I no longer can play every night for an hour practicing my songs. Fur Elise? A little rusty. Ok, quite a bit rusty. I've traded in my hours of classical practice for Baa Baa Black Sheep and The Farmer in the Dell. I do get the occasional Maple Leaf Rag thrown in, albeit needing some practice too. Sure, I could get a different piano that can hold a tune, but where would the fun in that be? This piano inspired me at a young age to have a love of music, and look - it's continuing to inspire younger generations. Maybe they'll discover Jingle Bells someday on this piano and beg me to give them lessons. I'm not going to push it...but if it's meant to be, this old upright will be right here to fulfill their love of music.
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Spring is always one of my favorite times of year. It's really a tie between spring and fall. Fall gives you sweater weather, hot chocolate, hunting season, and of course, Husker football. But, I just love the freshness that spring brings. New baby calves, pennycress, and the smell of a hayfield after the rain - the best solution to the winter blues. Next year, our house turns the big 1-0-0. It's crazy to think about all the changes and remodels our house has been through during that time. In the 70s, they added 10 feet onto the north side of the house. They added one of my favorite things about the house - the stone fireplace, but upstairs, they just put in sub floor and put white shag carpet over the original oak flooring. (I learned this while tearing up said carpet. WHY would you just put down sub floor!?) Downstairs in the entryway, they put in a closet large enough to hold the entire population of Buffalo county. That was one of the first things to go, after that orange wallpaper, and now makes for a fantastic spot for my old upright piano. I learned a new craft recently: shellac. I'd read about it on other old house blogs, and wanted to give it a try. We put in a closet door a couple years ago, and I never did put a top-coat on it. I finally coaxed Tyler into taking it down for me to work on. Big mistake. One thing I didn't do was research the proper application methods. I'm experienced with poly, and I assumed it would be like that. Nope! Shellac dries incredibly fast, so you have to apply it as though a drill sergeant is behind you. If you make a mistake, too bad. Go back and fix it once it dries. Fast and furious is the game. Once I figured this out, I realized I never should've taken the door outside - room temperature works best. I went inside and practiced in there. That's where I got hooked. I shellac'd (I'm making that a verb now.) all of the original woodwork in the bathroom/stairway landing, and was just amazed at the results. One neat things about shellac is that it blends in perfect over the top of the old, original shellac coating. If it has a rough "alligator skin" coating, denatured alcohol will dissolve it and blend in. Once I learned the "fast and furious" technique, and the denatured alcohol technique, where could I go wrong?! I'll definitely be giving the upstairs trim a fresh coat this summer too once I'm out of school. Even though our house is no longer new, the shellac brought freshness back into the century-old woodwork; just as spring breathes freshness and new life back into us each year.
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Kathryn HollandWife. Mother. Teacher. Lifelong student. Archives
March 2022
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