Music to My Ears
and a Romantic Meal Deal for Two
Hello, hello, and welcome, new subscribers, to this absurd corner of the internet, where the biggest questions we ponder are not “who am I” or “what is the meaning of existence” but “did you really pay $10 for a $1000 handbag” and “what’s the best way to thrift cargo pants”! Today’s deal is brought to you by that most mercurial of patrons, luck, and its little cousin, kismet, and unfortunately can’t be replicated like a RetailMeNot promo code. HOWEVER, mayhaps there are kernels of deal-wisdom to be found within the gale force winds of fortune? Let us find out together, shall we?
Our story begins on a day like many others of late: sitting on the living room floor with Ben and the baby as the latter banged toys together in a discordant fashion (v No Wave, v Sonic Youth). “I think she’s got musical instincts,” I projected said, and lapsed into a reverie of my own music-filled childhood, all choirs and orchestra and junk guitars and private lessons and musicals and mix tapes, welcome escapes from the more unpleasant elements of home life and my adolescent brain, and a “healthy outlet” before I knew what a healthy outlet was.
I turned to Ben, ricocheting from past to future tense. “We should get a piano.”
“We don’t have any room for a piano,” he said. Crumpled, as he was, into a small corner as the baby’s miniature ball pit threatened to swallow the room. “Also, we don’t have any money.”
“Details!” I said. I went on, explaining that it was important for me that the baby become a musical prodigy be able to carry a tune and read music, and even though I never learned to play the piano very well growing up, I loved having access to instruments whenever I liked, be it our piano or guitars or the autoharps and dulcimer moldering in the basement.
“Also,” I said with some delicacy. “You’re tone-deaf.”
“Hey now,” Ben said.
“And I feel like we should try to work against that, you know?”
“Hmmm.” He was half-listening, half-protecting the baby from impaling herself on a tiny xylophone mallet.
The conversation stopped abruptly, as most adult conversations do when there’s a baby around. Life continued in its chaotic swirl. We launched Big in Sweden, traveled to Chicago and Madison for events, I did some podcasts and appearances, Ben chugged away at his day job and a new writing project while also finding time to repaint our front door.
One morning, some weeks later, I logged onto Facebook to check my messages (you never know, as a writer, where your next gig might come from) and saw that my Aunt Deb had sent a missive. I’d seen her and my Uncle Paul at the Big in Sweden launch party after some time apart, and was delighted to hear from her again even before I read her message. A message that said, in effect:
WE ARE MOVING. WOULD YOU LIKE GRANDMA LOIS’S PIANO?
When I say my heart soared, I mean I heard the soft flap of its wings as it lifted my body up in the air and flew into the summer sunshine. This is my Swedish grandma we’re talking about, my dad’s mom, who could play any instrument you set in front of her and taught elementary school music and sang opera as well as church hymns. “That’s your grandma” was the family refrain any time my siblings or I displayed any musical inclination: something to be proud of, to carry on, a legacy far more important than money or last name.
So I called Ben. “Can we get a piano?”
He sucked in air. After I explained the situation, he said, “How much will it cost?”
“Not much,” I said, not having a clue. (Actually it was $400 to move it with Manny’s. 10/10!)
“We’ve got to do some measuring first.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tonight when you get home!”
He got home that night. We measured, I cried and talked about the sacredness of music and its healing properties in my childhood, he sighed and reasoned we don’t host that much anyway and could afford to lose a couch, and before falling asleep I texted Aunt Deb. YES!
A week and half later, the piano arrived in perfect condition; just needs a little tuning.
I spent an hour dusting and polishing her, sense memories rushing back with a roar. She’s a Krakauer, which I learned from Google are esteemed in the antique piano market, not that she’ll ever be for sale. I still can’t believe that a piano essentially fell from the sky into our laps — or, more accurately, that my aunt and uncle had the foresight and generosity to see a new home for this extraordinary family heirloom while in the process of downsizing.
So. Let us consider: is there meaning to be made from this Epochal and Era-Defining Deal, in which I wished for a piano and not just any old piano made itself available but the most special piano in the world to me? As a staunch disbeliever in the law of attraction, I want to say no. But as a staunch believer in the reverberations (pun most certainly intended) of relationships and community, I want to say yes. Maybe Aunt Deb would have thought of our little family for the piano regardless of anything I said or did or wished for, but maybe inviting her to a big ol’ launch party, or sending her an early galley of my book, or hell, even writing this newsletter, to which she lovingly subscribes, struck a chord (again, intended). (Aunt Deb, when you read this, do please put your thoughts in the comments!)
See, as I downshift into post-pub gear, in the midst of weeding and cleaning and doing laundry, stuff that has nothing to do with being an Author and everything to do with real life, I’ve been meditating on the idea of contributing, and what it means to contribute, really contribute, to the world beyond our little family. And it’s occurred to me that the how of my contributions, or the mode — be it writing, speaking, editing, collaborating, or even filling up the dog treat box on the corner — is way less important to me than the spirit with which I do it, i.e., with the utmost generosity, abandon, and limitless layers of love and care, and — this is important — zero strings attached. Sometimes this may lead to nothing. Sometimes this may lead to scolding emails in my professional inbox, telling me to show more respect for Christianity (this actually happened last week after I published an op-ed in the Times). But sometimes, sometimes — sometimes it may lead somewhere glorious: to new friendships, deeper relationships, unexpected projects, and yes, even a piano falling from the sky. The joy, however, is not in the outcome, but in the contribution itself, in daring to be visible and vulnerable enough to truly make an impact.
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And now, the deals of the week!
° If you live near an IKEA, you are NOT going to want to miss this 50% off deal on adult entrees every Friday. Ben and I have gone TWICE and when we are not frantically picking up baby food off the floor we are eating like kings and queens for $13.
° And speaking of IKEA, I’m about to attempt this Kallax bench hack for our breakfast nook, inspired by my friend Ellie’s mud room, with plywood we found in the garage and foam I bought on Amazon. Pray for me!
° And inspired by my friend Jackie, a sewer, mender, domestic hacker, and consummate minimalist, I got some new IKEA pillow covers for like $6 each and our living room has a whole new lease on life!
***
And finally, if you’re wondering what the hell the deal is with me these days:
° I’ve got an event coming up at Magers and Quinn 9/18 at 7p with Antonia Angress, Dan Hornsby, and Dara Moskowitz Grumdahl. Registration required but it’s FREE.
° And another event at King Coil Spirits on 9/15 called the BOOZY BOOK FAIR with a bunch of famous writers ayyyyyyyyy let’s all get turnt!
° Also, catch BIG IN SWEDEN on the Twin Cities Live! Book Club 9/11 at 10:30am on Facebook!
° Or catch up on the best podcast I’ve ever done here if you’re not local!
More info, links, events, etc, as always, are on my IG and/or website. TY for reading and hope to see you IRL soon!
missing my Minneapolis family more than ever <3
this was such a sweet read, love u all!
SHE’S BEAUTY AND SHE’S GRACE