Music has been an integral part of my life since 1986, the year Don and I met. And though it had previously always been something I had enjoyed, my taste was limited to what was in my childhood home: Tiny Tim records, Captain and Tennille eight-tracks and, later, cassettes of the Village People and Peaches & Herb. Ah, the 1970s. But I digress. Traveling through the college years and well beyond with Don–a musicology major and accomplished guitarist–my ears were opened and my tastes expanded exponentially. We went to Boston Symphony Hall to hear classical composers and to Nashville honkey-tonks to hear bluegrass and country bands. We’ve been to jazz clubs and festivals more times than I can count, and I can credit Don completely and with the utmost reverence for my musical education. In our home, there is always music–on the CD player, radio, and in Don’s guitar-playing. And yesterday a new sound was added–the sound of piano. A colleague was looking to give away a beautiful, antique mahogany A. B. Chase upright (c. 1906, we think), and we were looking for a piano. A group of three men, who will forever be known as nothing short of miracle workers, moved all 700-plus pounds of it up our front stairs, down a narrow hallway, and against the last remaining free wall in our house. It awaits a tuning and a little refinishing, but it’s here–and it sounds sweet. Oscar and Edgar have already received their first informal lessons (the best kind) from Don, who–despite that darned brace–can still teach his sons a little do-re-mi. Oscar told us long ago he wanted to play tuba; and Edgar seems at home at a set of drums. But it all starts with the piano. And ours is here. My musical education started when I was 18–the boys’ starts now. And may it take them wherever they want to go!