Dad sent me a guitar for Christmas. I'd picked up his guitar this summer and plinked out a tune, and suddenly I missed playing after not even thinking about it much for years. When the package arrived, I knew what was in the box. I wish I could say that I am a good guesser, but I'm not-- he phoned to tell me that's what he'd be sending. I stuck the box under the tree anyway, wouldn't tell anyone what was in it. I'm a sucker for suspense and anticipation.
I love it. I played guitar...gosh, too many years ago when I count them all up. Funny, I still feel like I'm 25. Naturally, I've forgotten everything I'd learned so long ago. I'm starting over from scratch, but the feel of the guitar in my lap is still familiar. My fingers are sore, that's familiar too.
Fine young gent (6) and I have made a pact that we'll both practice daily, him on piano and me on guitar. I promised him I'd learn to play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" so that we can play together. Modeling good practice habits will be helpful for this musical young gent.
Lovely lady (11) wants to bring her guitar from her dad's house. We can be practice buddies, she says. I've been looking for ways to spend time with her that honor her new "grown-upness" and that sparks her interest.
Music has always been important to my father. Not just passive listening, but actively making music. Some of my warmest memories are of family making music together, Dad on the guitar. My Irie sis has taken up guitar too. Playing guitar is like having a little piece of my family in my home.
And today, after knowing loving husband for quite some time, I found out that he played the guitar for many years, just plunking around for fun. Hmm, maybe I can talk him into getting his own guitar someday.
Thanks, Dad! (And you thought you were just sending me a guitar.)
Juan Gris, Violin and Guitar (1913)
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