I have been more open to restorations lately. I think perhaps that can happen when one doesn’t try so hard to keep everything on the fence, balanced so that you can go for either opportunity that may present itself. Nothing wrong with staying open – I heartily encourage it – but one’s real life is lived in only one pasture at a time, not on the fence. (Damned uncomfortable place, anyway!)
My latest small victory is in rediscovering music. I’ve never been a serious musician, but it was, until the last 15 years, a big part of my life. My guitar was more Bob Dylan than Chet Atkins, but I could play happily with the folkies, and sometimes learn a lick or two. Piano was a little further behind, even considering I had more years of Piano than of English by the time I ended High School. Choir was my joy, even as late as a civic chorus in 2005. But even my middling voice is about gone, I had not touched a keyboard in many years, and my guitar had not been out of its case since 2001. Had not REALLY played since almost 10 years before that!
I had been noodling around on a piano at church, killing time between meetings, for a while, and the sense of loss became too much to bear. I found a used digital piano I could afford. Good action. I found I can still read (sort of). I am now officially trying to learn some music, instead of just noodling. It can be done.
When I pulled the guitar out of the case, I found the finish is really ugly in spots (but then, it does at least look better than Willie Nelson’s!) And even though my fingers remembered WHAT to do, they could not remember HOW. The biggest amazement was that my fingers actually hurt! My fingers have not hurt from guitar strings since Johnson was president –Lyndon, not Andrew.
Today, new strings on, I played for over half an hour (not much, but a start). My fingers began to once again find the strings. Even a few of the blues licks were still there beneath the rubble and a few inches of dust. My finger muscles are sore and stiff, but they don’t hurt – it’s the pain of a “too hard” hug by a long-lost friend, and very welcome. This thing that got me through High School and college is once again a friend, and not just an accusing memory in the closet.
I need 2 months, and then I need a place to play!