I was a first anniversary gift, chosen lovingly between them. I made Painted squeal with glee and shimmer with excitement.At first the time she spent with me was devoted to relearning those songs she had played at camp on her mother's borrowed guitar. Then came Indigo Girls, Bare Naked Ladies, Dave Matthews, Dar Williams... songs she loved and downloaded from the internet, teaching herself how to play as she sang along.
We moved across the country and still she sat on her bed and we sang together regularly. Then we spent time in the sunshine, in the parking lot of the Science Museum as a friend tried to teach her the blues. She made up her own songs, and they weren't very good, but it was warm in the Los Angeles sun and laughter was plentiful.
We moved again and I would feel the soft kicks of the coming child as Painted practiced for the first official lessons we ever took together.
Then the child was born.
It's been over 5 years since Painted Maypole has spent more time with me than it takes to move me from one place to another. I hear her spirit calling out to me occasionally, the promises that she makes herself that she'll play me once again. The wishes that she could use me when she sings with the kids at school. The willingness to even cut her nails so she can press my strings properly.
It's been over 5 years since Painted Maypole has spent more time with me than it takes to move me from one place to another. I hear her spirit calling out to me occasionally, the promises that she makes herself that she'll play me once again. The wishes that she could use me when she sings with the kids at school. The willingness to even cut her nails so she can press my strings properly.
Yet here I sit, ignored in the corner of the guest room. Collecting dust.
My companion? A beautiful bass, HAND MADE for Painted and The Big Guy. No one in this house even knows how to play her, but she was a gift, specially made for The Big Guy by a friend. Maybe someday together we will sing.But for now we sit: out of tune, out of use, out of sight, out of mind....
This has been a Monday Mission - this week's mission was to write a post from the point of view of someone or something else in your home. If you've written a Mission post please post your link in the widget below. And then scroll down and read the fun I had with Limericks this weekend in my posts below...
31 comments:
you can play Dar? Iowa?
i so love you.
Awwww...I'm feeling all sad now. Hopefully the time will come, soon, for guitar playing AND bass playing in the House of May.
Heidi
OOHH!! Barenaked Ladies!! "My boys". My faves.
Yet another thing we have in common!!
xo CGF
This made me sad... maybe because of the violin I have moved for ten years and never take out to play,or maybe because it actually sounds like you CAN play, but life doesn't give you the time to do something like that.
I still have electricity and am composing my Mission now (while Miss Ky destroys everything around me, so it may not get published until later).
Fun limericks too, btw!
Ohh....take them out and play! You'd be amazed what happens when you do.
And yeah, I think we are on at the same time...:) But thanks for thinking of me!
Yes...please play!
Yes! Pick it up again! Don't let it sit there all lonely!
It would make for a great video clip for a post! :)
I have a neglected guitar in my living room. Imoved it there over Christmas, thinking that it would inspire me to play if I looked at it everyday.
My daughter had a friend over the other day who noticed the guitar and asked who played it. My daughter replied, "My Mom plays Christmas carols in December every year."
:( How sad.
Painted Maypole, that was lovely. It's been way to many years since I picked up my instruments... you've inspired me to do that right now, for the boys.
The boys are home... I can find no peace to write, so I'm not participating today... but thanks for the inspiration.
I have a guitar I got pre-KayTar and I never even learned to play it...but one day, I think. One day. For now, I only have time enough for a round of Guitar Hero here and there. ;)
Your poor guitars - so lonely! You should start playing them before they think they'll be better in the outside world, and the last you see of them is their backs as they hitch-hike down the road!
The dustbunnies took over the computer to speak their minds over at my blog;-)
You know?! Life just happens, and presented me with a mission.
Oh my gosh. Your guitar and my recorder could totally be friends.
I feel the same about my drum kit, in pieces, collecting dust in the garage.
I loved this post. And your Dirty Dancing reference. Nice.
This totally ruled.
If I can resurrect my accordion, you can play your guitar...
How beautiful! My husband is a bass player. Zo loves it when he plays to her. Here's hoping you dust off that beauty and give it another go.
And when Zo is old enough to take piano lessons, I'll finally take them, too.
You play guitar too? Is there nothing you can't do, Painted?! And can I be you, someday? ;) Beautiful guitars, too.
(p.s. I love Dar Williams and pretty much live on the Indigo Girls.)
Poor wee guitar. At least she keeps you in what appears to be safe storage. Me? I holed away in a humid, leaking rubble basement and will likely never be able to play Back on the Chain Gang in tune again.
(Monday cop-out mission: write a comment as guest-posted by an object in your house.)
(YAHOO I am finally reading and commenting catching up with all these saved blog posts...so check below, too!)
Oh this is LOVELY!!
I wish I could wave a wand to give you time to play again. I love guitars. love them. You read my ode to classical Spanish guitarists a while back?
You might want to read Piano Shop on the Left Bank...It's about rediscovered passion which sounds to be heading your way...
Oh, lovely! I have one of those, sitting lonely in a corner. And I haven't even learned to play it yet.
Sigh.
I love it when my husband plays the guitar... you should, you know.
Awwwww... Play the poor guitar! She sounds so sad!!!
She does sound sad. I hope you get back to her soon...
Very cool post, P.M.
What beautiful instruments!
So much prettier than my Guitar Hero, which is the only "string" I can play.
"Broke into the old apartment, tore the phone out of the wall, picked up the guitar at the end of the corner hall..."
Those weren't the lyrics?
Really?
I feel bad for inannimate objects as it is - now I weep for your guitars too.
We have a whole flock of neglected guitars lined up on the floor of what we once hoped would be the babies' room. Sometimes, as I walk down the hall, I catch a glimpse of them through the not-quite-closed door.
i would just love to hear you play sometime. . .
Running on empty
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