Another Note About That Guitar

I now buy and sell guitars. I have a little little little business. Small. So guitars come and go. I have the opportunity to hold them and play them. That is a delight. But that Sigma. That old Sigma has more music in it then any other guitar I have ever owned. I am quite surprised. One would think that these delightful but lifeless objects were just the recipient of inspiration and not the cause of it. I would think that there are many objects that are ultimately interchangeable. A shovel? A rag? A blender? But this guitar enables progressions and combinations that I swear I did not think of. My fingers go to the chord it wants to sing that moment. There are fingerings it demands and rhythms it prefers. This morning I played a B 7th chords at the, what, sixth or seventh fret. As God is my witness I have never played that before. Then to other locations on the fret board that I have not visited often and with little success. I am amazed. I am surprised. And I don't get it. There have been mystical moments in my life. Not a lot and easily pooh poohed ( that is a damn odd phrase ) by people. There is the incident f the Dove soap. Connie, you never met her, was murdered. That was the exclamation point of her life. I cared for her. I affaired with her. I assumed affection on her part. Decades later in an uncomfortable chair at a CLUB that, under normal circumstances, has only just let people of Hebraic origin to propose membership and perhaps be accepted, someone with very blond hair and blue eyes told me how much she loved me. Let us all say hello to Ted the putz. There I was at the store I was running exhausted and exhausted and thinking of her for some reasons. This was decades later. Decades. My co-manager walked in with two bars of Dove soap and told me she thought I would want them,. She was at a loss to explain why I would want them. I asked her how she came to that conclusion As I mentioned she was not up on that one. She was clueless. Then there is the Erik Satie incident. I went to the graveyard/cemetery to dampen my eyes on the day that my first wife, Melissa Ann Lopez deLeo Delaguna (love the whole thing) died. As I left the place I turned on WQXR the classical station in NYC and on came here favorite piece of music. Not her almost favorite. Not my imagined favorite. But her fucking favorite piece of fucking music. Erik Saties' Gymnopedie No. #1. Riddle me one Batman.Now there is the wooden thing with strings. I miss holding right now.