In 2005 I bought an accordion on eBay for $38 (plus $42 shipping). It arrived surprisingly in tune, but I made up for that by playing it badly. It sat next to my bed in the Fishbowl, a large triple I shared with David and Lucas sophmore year:

I didn't really know what I was doing, but enjoyed trying to play Scotland the Brave as loudly as possible while holding down a bass button to simulate drones. Pretty quickly my friends confiscated it under the excuse that one of them (Jules?) wanted to learn to play. This was actually very kind, because accordion ergonomics don't suit me: they reliably hurt my wrists.

This started a pattern that has continued for the last 20 years: anytime the accordion comes back from loan I try to get it out again as quickly as possible before I wishful thinking myself into deciding to play it. I think the only maintenance it's had has been people replacing the broken straps and case, and while it leaks a little air it's in surprisingly good shape.

Here's my uncle playing it for morris dancing at our wedding:

Ever since I was eleven I've had one big dream about my wedding: that there would be Morris dancing.

So, we're planning to have pick-up Morris at the break in the contra dance. Davy has agreed to play accordion. By my count, we have about sixteen possible dancers. If you don't want to dance, that's fine. How about doing Bonny Green Garters? We'll have plenty of white dinner napkins to use for hanks. But if you have bells and want to bring them, please do. —Julia, to relevant wedding guests, February 2009

Over the years it's gone to maybe a dozen people. My ideal is that someone borrows it, plays it long enough to figure out whether they want to get one of their own, and then it can go to someone else.

It came back to me this week: would you like to be next?