My Guitar
So, there are many things to love about life on this planet. It would take a long time to make a list. Longer than we've got. Once you start with the way Aardvarks look (good joke, God!) it's quite a ways to Zebras and their stubby legs, too short under striped bodies. (Did you know I raced a zebra once? Turns out they're pretty playful animals. All you need to know, I guess, is that the zebra won every time. That's probably because I was never designed to get away from lions. Hey, lions! They way lions look and sound are two more reasons to love life on this planet!)
I digress. (Which reminds me of chasing rabbits. Where I grew up there was a big piece of undeveloped land, maybe a half mile square, right next to the jr. hi school. At dusk the jackrabbits would come out from their hiding places under the palo verdes and chollas and feed on the clover that grew on the playing fields. My brothers and I used to go out there, easing up over the hill, and we could see the rabbits - scores of them - sitting in the grass. We'd work our way down and sneak up on them. Then - in bursts of grade-school speed - we'd sprint toward them and try to make a catch. I'm sure the rabbits were nothing but amused, but we always thought we were just so close to catching one. Good memories but, as I said, digression. So back to my intended thought...)
Anyway, one of the things I love about life on this planet is my guitar. My wife would say, "Your guitar? Which one?? Don't you have about seven???" Well, she's right, I guess: 3 acoustics, 2 electrics, and 2 basses. I also have access to a ukelele.
But when I talk about My Guitar, there's only one. I found it in a pawn shop in downtown Tucson in 1978. It's a blonde '73 Fender telecaster. And for 27 years I've poured myself into her, trying to make it sound good. Blues (thank you BB and Eric), rock (thank you Buddy, Bruce, Pete, and Keef), soul (thank you, Steve), even country (thank you, Johnny and Brent) - she produces them all with sweet, sweet tone. The neck is slender and sleek, the body has been "relic-ed" against my skin and sweat and buttons and buckles. She is smooth and tasty, and I love her.
In the mid-70s I had a subscription to Rolling Stone magazine, back when they were about music more than politics and fashion. Covers included The Who, Bruce Springsteen, and Keith Richards of the Stones. And I noticed all those guys were playing teles. I didn't know much, but I knew I wanted to sound like them, so I went hunting, and found My Guitar. The pawnshop is no longer there, replaced by some urban redevelopment. The pawnshop guy isn't either, I guess. But the tele was hanging behind the counter and I paid - I think - $285. That was probably too much (I was way young and didn't know you could bargain with those guys) but I was the happiest kid in Tucson.
27 years ago. That's a lot of notes, and not much money for 'em! But every time I pick her up, pull on the strap, and strum a quiet chord, I smile. I plug her into the '65 Pro Reverb amp (had to throw that in for you gear geeks), wait 20 seconds for it to warm up, and I'm 17 again and off down Thunder Road.
Thanks, God, for My Guitar, and all the rest of the blessings You've given me over the years. When I get to heaven, if You've got a band up there, I hope you'll let me and her audition.
I digress. (Which reminds me of chasing rabbits. Where I grew up there was a big piece of undeveloped land, maybe a half mile square, right next to the jr. hi school. At dusk the jackrabbits would come out from their hiding places under the palo verdes and chollas and feed on the clover that grew on the playing fields. My brothers and I used to go out there, easing up over the hill, and we could see the rabbits - scores of them - sitting in the grass. We'd work our way down and sneak up on them. Then - in bursts of grade-school speed - we'd sprint toward them and try to make a catch. I'm sure the rabbits were nothing but amused, but we always thought we were just so close to catching one. Good memories but, as I said, digression. So back to my intended thought...)
Anyway, one of the things I love about life on this planet is my guitar. My wife would say, "Your guitar? Which one?? Don't you have about seven???" Well, she's right, I guess: 3 acoustics, 2 electrics, and 2 basses. I also have access to a ukelele.
But when I talk about My Guitar, there's only one. I found it in a pawn shop in downtown Tucson in 1978. It's a blonde '73 Fender telecaster. And for 27 years I've poured myself into her, trying to make it sound good. Blues (thank you BB and Eric), rock (thank you Buddy, Bruce, Pete, and Keef), soul (thank you, Steve), even country (thank you, Johnny and Brent) - she produces them all with sweet, sweet tone. The neck is slender and sleek, the body has been "relic-ed" against my skin and sweat and buttons and buckles. She is smooth and tasty, and I love her.
In the mid-70s I had a subscription to Rolling Stone magazine, back when they were about music more than politics and fashion. Covers included The Who, Bruce Springsteen, and Keith Richards of the Stones. And I noticed all those guys were playing teles. I didn't know much, but I knew I wanted to sound like them, so I went hunting, and found My Guitar. The pawnshop is no longer there, replaced by some urban redevelopment. The pawnshop guy isn't either, I guess. But the tele was hanging behind the counter and I paid - I think - $285. That was probably too much (I was way young and didn't know you could bargain with those guys) but I was the happiest kid in Tucson.
27 years ago. That's a lot of notes, and not much money for 'em! But every time I pick her up, pull on the strap, and strum a quiet chord, I smile. I plug her into the '65 Pro Reverb amp (had to throw that in for you gear geeks), wait 20 seconds for it to warm up, and I'm 17 again and off down Thunder Road.
Thanks, God, for My Guitar, and all the rest of the blessings You've given me over the years. When I get to heaven, if You've got a band up there, I hope you'll let me and her audition.
posted by David Hardesty | 9:40 AM
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