Some of my earliest memories are of guitar music. My mother played. Her voice was clear and strong. She would sing to me when I was ill and in bed. There was this song that she would sing about a spinning wheel. I can’t find a version that is as solid as I remember her voice being, but this is definitely the song (thank-you internet… five words I could remember of this song, and it was enough to find a version of it)
When I was well again, I would take her guitar and lay it over the big chair in the living room. It was far too large for me to hold properly. The neck would lay on one arm, and base straddled the other arm, and then I’d start strumming away, pretending I was some sort of folk genius. Like many children I too loved music. It calmed me, and I became entranced and absorbed by the vibrations.
Not exactly sure when I officially started taking lessons. Couldn’t have been much older than Little S is now. What I wanted to learn was the cello, have no idea how or where I learned about a cello, but that just wasn’t something that folks learned how to play in Chilliwack. There wasn’t anyone to teach me, let alone anyone in town to purchase a cello from. So by default, I learned to play the guitar.
When I was a teenager, I’d play for comfort. If things weren’t going well, I always knew that I could come home and find a few minutes of solace strumming away. I couldn’t play as well as I wanted to, I didn’t practice enough. I lacked discipline, structure, and focus (I still lack these things). I can remember crying tears of frustration. I remember being chastised by my teacher for not practicing more. I remember thinking about quitting. I never did quit. I still play. My repertoire is sadly lacking. I still play the same sheet music that I’ve had for 25 years. I still don’t practice enough.
This isn’t the first guitar that I’ve ever owned, but it is the best. I almost lost it to my brother, who claimed ownership of it while I travelled, and was reticent to return it after two long years.
This guitar has a deep base to it. The tone is unusual, I’ve never found another one that compares. Sometimes, when I’m alone in this little house, and I have a few minutes to steal away. I play.
Quietly. Sweetly. Softly. Dreamily. Lost in the music, wishing it would never have to end. I love my guitar.