#This Old Guitar

[oldbutnotyetwise]

This Old Guitar

This old guitar taught me to sing a love song

It showed me how to laugh, and how to cry.

It introduced me to some friends of mine

And brightened up some days,

And helped me make it through some lonely nights.

What a friend to have on a cold and lonely night.

     John Denver wrote the above lyrics about a guitar he was given by his grandmother when he was an awkward and lonely twelve year old.  One day it was stolen and years later he finally got this treasured guitar back, that night he wrote the song This Old Guitar.  When John Denver died in 1997 he was cremated along with this same guitar and their ashes were spread over the Rocky Mountains.

     I suspect I was like most young boys when I was growing up, we wanted to be Hollywood Actors or famous musicians or Police Officers (thank you Adam 12) and if you were Canadian, you of course wanted to play in the NHL

     I quit playing hockey when I was around twelve years old when I suddenly had a nasty coach who was nothing more than a bully and took every ounce of joy out of the game for me.  Although I did act in High School and performed in several Drama Festivals, Hollywood never came calling and I never went looking.  I was more fortunate than most to achieve my dream of a career in Policing.  That leaves my dream to be a famous musician.

     I still remember the Christmas when I received my first guitar.  I’m sure my parents thought it would just be a passing fancy.  There is a picture of me holding it in front of the Christmas Tree, wide grin on my face, electric guitar with polished red wood and ivory inlays on the neck.  Probably the best, certainly the most lasting gift my parents ever gave me, the gift of music.  Although I can’t remember the name of my first guitar teacher I can still picture him, a tall thin man with a heavy accent who struggled to remain patient as I tortured that poor guitar.

     In time I traded in that shiny red electric guitar in on my first, and only handmade Classical Guitar.  I had no idea when I bought that guitar that it would be with me for the next fifty years or so.  

     My skills as a Classical Guitar player were mediocre at best, but the study of classical music did teach me how to be a guitar picker, someone who played with his thumb and fingers.

     As far as fame and fortune goes regarding my musical career, I did play on a local TV Talent Show once singing and playing my guitar, a classmate had wandered into his living room and saw me playing on his TV, I think he may have been the only person who saw it.  I also was in a Drama Festival once where I played my guitar during part of the play.  There was of course my Rock Band playing Proud Mary in a Grade Eight Variety Show, when I think back now I can only imagine the parents cringing at the racket we were making while butchering a classic song.  Oddly enough after all these performances there were no agents waiting by the stage doors to sign me to a record contract.

     The only other playing in public I really did was at the weekly Folk Mass at my church.  Some friends and I would play and when we could, we would slip in a pop song but only when we could somehow convince the priest it had some religious connection.  We must have done okay because soon the Saturday Night Folk Mass was one of the best attended masses the church had.

     Somehow as I emerged from the teen years my comfort about playing my guitar or singing in public slowly evaporated.  My guitar and I then took up a more reclusive existence.  Yes there were times when perhaps I went months or even years without playing, but somehow we always found our way back to each other.

     When you play a guitar you develop calluses on the ends of the fingers on your left hand, and if you don’t play you lose those calluses and it hurts to play.  As well the fingernails on your left hand are cropped close so you can easily and firmly press the strings hard against the frets to get clear tone.  If you are a picker like I was then the fingernails on your right hand tend to be longer to assist you in plucking the strings, the sound from nylon strings is softer quieter when plucked with a finger, and louder and more distinct when plucked with a fingernail.

     At one point I found myself living alone in a small one bedroom apartment with lots of time on my hands.  My guitar and I got reacquainted then as I quietly played in the bedroom, so no one passing in the hall would hear me.  My friend Suzanne lived a few blocks away and we began playing together, this small amateur duo who played just for the joy of playing.  She has a wonderful voice and there were times when I would pause after a song and think to myself that we sounded pretty darn good.  Not sure that we played before anyone other than our partners, but it didn’t matter, we were playing for ourselves.

     Eventually we moved in different directions and I was back to playing on my own.  We did get together occasionally but I had returned to being a solo player.

     My guitar was like that friend most of us have, someone you don’t see or hear from for a long time but then you get together you just pick up where you left off.  My guitar was never angry that I hadn’t visited for a long time, it was always glad for any time we spent together.  Bringing it out of it’s hard case, tuning the strings to bring back it’s beautiful sound and then playing.  Interesting isn’t it, you don’t work the guitar you play it, because playing the guitar is a joyful thing to do.  Although the song you play may not sound perfect there is a good chance you will have played a few perfect notes, and maybe as you sang maybe once or twice your voice was actually in tune.  My joy from playing the guitar comes from inside me, just me and a good friend having fun together.

     Sometimes things happen that are out of our control, sometimes you have to make decisions that are hard for you, but are best for your friend. That time came for me and my guitar, my hands just don’t work like they once did and now playing the guitar only brought frustration and sadness.  Now this is a handsome handmade guitar and I expect I could have sold it for a decent price, but it was also a dear friend so it wasn’t about the money, it was about finding my friend a good new home, somewhere where it would be well appreciated. 

     I sat it there by my front door and when my friend Suzanne came to visit I sent it home with her.  She is the one who I played it the most with, and I know she will look after my friend well, maybe she will think of me from time to time while playing.

     And to my old friend, thank you for always being there for me.  For helping me through those awkward teenage years, for all the dark days and nights we struggled through together, and for all the joy you brought to me during our half century together.

[spiritedstrider]

My Guitar

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it? As a young child, I was always inspired by music and Music class was my favorite class, starting from kindergarten. I can fondly remember playing those plastic recorders from a very young age. By fourth grade, I had a clarinet, and I begged my parents for a piano, and was gifted an old upright to learn from. It was…

[vintage-tigre]

Johnny Cash, 1962

- Photograph by Leigh Wiener

[webdiggerxxx]

꧁★꧂

[shushmal]

Eddie pauses, his fingers stilling against his guitar strings. Steve makes a questioning noise, but doesn't move from where he's sitting on the ground, back against the log and his head still resting against Eddie's knee. And for a long moment, Eddie does nothing, so caught up in it all this—this life they've managed to scrap together.

They're thirty-eight, and they own a house, one with a big back yard perfect for a fire pit, a fence and a dog. Last spring a storm had blown down their oak tree, and Steve had rolled the trunk of it over to make seating, the rest firewood. On clear nights, they light a fire and sit next to the flames, and Eddie will play his guitar. And they're far enough out of town that the stars stretch endless, beautiful in the night sky above them.

That's the kind of night they're having now. And it's not what Eddie used to dream of—bars and stages and stadiums of fans. It's not his uncle's trailer and dealing drugs that Eddie thought he'd have to resign himself to. It's not even orange jumpsuits and prison bars, like he was scared of.

Eddie sets his guitar down, resting it against his seat. Steve finally looks up, brown eyes a little sleepy, and a lot content.

It's the kind of night that Eddie never even thought to want.

"Dance with me?" Eddie asks. He watches a slow smile stretch Steve's face. He's gorgeous, painted in campfire light.

"Getting sappy in your old age, Munson?" Steve says, even as he takes Eddie's hand and lets him haul him to his feet.

They fall into each other easily, because they do it every day—arms around waists, shoulders. Cold noses against an ear. Lips kissing lips. They know exactly how to fit themselves together, where their pieces meet and the edges line up perfectly. They sway there in the darkness behind their home, fire-warmed and holding each other. There is nothing but the crackle of the burning logs, the wind in the trees, the crickets and the night birds calling.

"Perfect," Eddie murmurs.

"Hm?" Steve hums, his fingers playing with the ends of Eddie's hair. He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck as they turn a little circle, dancing. "What is?"

"You," Eddie says. "This. Everything. I love this."

He can feel Steve's smile against his skin, knows with out seeing all happy shine of Steve's eyes, his scrunch of his nose, the dimples and the shape of his teeth. He's perfect, and he'll always be perfect to Eddie.

"You, too," Steve whispers. "I love this, too."

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

Apropos of nothing but this bears repeating

I would give anything to have Brian May cover This Old Guitar by John Denver. Look up the lyrics and tell me it doesn’t have his name written all over it

[youre-dreaming-302]

[pam3pr]

(x)

[carnevol]

Austin Butler playing “Can’t Help Falling In Love”

[end-of-xistence]

Black + White Emo Graphics 🖤

Not mine, if you are the owner please ask if you would like credit/removal

Feel free to use!!

[fawndollie]

can i request anything bass guitar related?stamps, blinkies or fqvicons would be great *_*

i literally don t know the difference between bass n regular guitar sooo i hope these suffice!!!!

yui's there to lolol

[uldren-sov]

the reality (not the expectation) of what it's like sleeping with Seven Lawless. - Camy Rose ~dated five years ago~

Comm'd the amazing and talented @aevari tysm bestie!! Of yet another meme of my OC Camy and @infamous-if 's most divisive clingy sleeper Seven Lawless

Blank version under the cut!

[2000ghosts]

december 23, 2010

[vintage-tigre]

Jimi Hendrix, 1968

[inthedarktrees]

Actress Elaine Stewart at home in Los Angeles, 1957 | Earl Leaf

[walterkurtz26]