... and I hope we pass the audition
June 13, 2000
7:32 a.m.
My other Father's Day present was a fresh set of strings for my guitar. Yes, a long time ago on a planet far, far away, I used to play guitar. My brother and I fiddled around in a few garage bands, and I had lots of fun. My hair was longer, and I weighed a little less than I do now--but we won't go into that.  Brigid has been playing the piano for several years. Now she wants me to teach her something about the guitar--hence the strings. So I've been playing again for a few days. I can still pick out a few songs--old Zep, and a few things by the Stones--but I'm really rusty. Some things come back more quickly than others, of course. The thing that comes back the fastest is that burning sensation at the tip of the fingers of my left hand. [grin]. Brigid is learning scales. She sits with the guitar on her lap and concentrates so hard. Her fingers crawl over the frets with painful slowness. Sound comes out--or doesn't. I like watching her because the guitar makes her look small again, something that she hasn't been for a long time now. But then I see into the future for moment. Maybe she'll be a musician. Shudder ... kinda been there, kinda done that. Maybe she'll be a writer. Shudder again. Maybe she'll do whatever the heck she wants. When she finishes her efforts, I pick up the guitar and play it a bit. I think about the hours I spent downstairs in my basement practicing. I think about friends. I think about parties. I think about Jeff, who is still playing. But mostly I think my fingers hurt.  Hey, where's the stuff about writing? Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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nice rejection from sci-fi.com ... key word: rejection |
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