Wow. This one really hit home with me.

The parlor you described is exactly what I remember as a child, when we visited my dad's favorite teacher, Miss Lydia, who was one of his music instructors at the USC School of Music. And her parlor was always quite warm.

Although in her parlor was a massive treadle-operated organ, that was still in perfect working condition, and when we were lucky, she would gift us with one of her amazingly expert performances.

It also hit home because, still strapped to its moving pallet, my father's 1890 Steinway piano sits in what will eventually become our music studio, unplayed. Which is a crime.