The old family piano still sits by the window, its keys yellowed and silent, wrapped in a hush only memory can hold. Outside, the breeze carries the faint scent of jasmine and rain-dampened earth—the same scent that drifted through the open windows of their childhood home so many decades ago. It’s here, in this quiet corner of the past, that the echo of Karen Carpenter’s voice returns—not to a concert hall, but to the living room where it all began.
phil When the Song Never Ends: Remembering Karen Carpenter at the Family Piano The old family piano still sits by the…