Queensland suffered some devastating losses in floods this month. It is one thing to see this sort of thing on television, somewhere distant; it is something else to see it right in front of you, changing the lives of your friends and neighbours. Our family was lucky; other than losing power for a day and being cut off by road, we were fine. Social media connected Brisbane like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t think I know anyone that didn’t contribute to the cleanup in some way. It feels like we’ve shared a surreal, sometimes horrifying, sometimes uplifting experience with the rest of Brisbane, something we’ll have in common forever.
My friend Nathan and his neighbour Paul both lost their pianos in the flood. After their houses were cleaned out, the remains of Nathan’s baby grand rested sadly in its own spot in the front yard, legs missing. Paul’s piano was also damaged beyond repair. His friends and family tried to get it out of the house in one piece; Paul reluctantly gave them a sledgehammer and walked away. Bits of the piano sat in with the rest of the rubbish in a giant pile in the front yard.
I play the piano, albeit poorly compared to Nathan. There’s something about pianos that I find inviting – glossy, orderly keys, arranged in a comforting familiar pattern. Ready and patiently waiting to help someone carve music out of nothing. I saw a lot of mudstained wrecked possessions on footpaths in Jindalee during the big cleanup, but nothing affected me as much as a couple of broken pianos.
