I play an old, scratched up, Guild 12-string guitar. I’ve had it for nearly 20 years and it was probably 20 years old (at least) when I first received it. My now ex-husband gave it to me a week after my mother’s funeral. I had played an even more beat up six-string guitar and sang a duet with my sister Ruth at the service. I was scheduled to play and sing at that same sister’s wedding a week later. “I didn’t want you to play that beat up old guitar at Ruth’s wedding,” Marcus had explained to me. “This one isn’t brand new but I wanted to have something better for you to play at Ruth’s wedding.”
To me it was beautiful and it sounded wonderful. I’d given away a 12-string guitar a few years earlier and had missed the full sound of the 12 strings vibrating beautifully through the instrument. It was scratched and worn and had been played lovingly and hard by others’ hands. It cost $450, which was a fortune to our young family at that time. I pulled it from its case and have made beautiful music it with for nearly 20 years, beginning with my sister’s wedding, for which I had written a special song.
Tonight I had it back out of it’s case, running my hands along the scratches and scars, contemplating what I might play. I was in a mood, I could feel it, and needed to vocalize it, express it through the instrument as best I could. I played a few tentative chords, reaching for what my heart needed to play and then found the minor chords that have salved my soul on more than one occasion. I played my song, “Wednesday’s Child” with the same angst I’d sang it with back in 1977 when I wrote it. Cloudy sky, rainy day. I wasn’t gonna go out anyway. I’ll just stay inside, find a place to hide, and softly fade away… Yes, that was exactly what I needed to play, and no sooner had the last note died before I was gearing up into Kathy Mattea’s “Standing Knee Deep in a River (and Dying of Thirst).” Ah yes, now we were getting to it. You see, it started with someone having posted on Facebook a link to Joni Mitchell’s “River,” a somewhat melancholy holiday tune that–pardon the pun–struck a chord in my heart that needed playing. I hadn’t even realized what my heart was asking for, but when I figure it out, I answered.
I am almost speechless with gratitude for the day I discovered that I was a songwriter. Even when I have let the gift lie dormant, something happens to wake it up. I am always amazed that when I lift my scarred old Guild out of her case and pluck a few notes the magic happens and all the dry places bloom. I know, sounds dramatic doesn’t it? It is dramatic–nurturing and lifesaving. I wish I had a river I could skate away on... You see, you don’t have to be sad for a sad song to grab you, transport you to someplace you needed to go. And boy did I need it.
Now before my siblings and friends start texting and calling me to ask me if I’m alright, please know that I am fine. My heart is a little tender, but not broken. Music once again has provided me a space to feel a little bit of that tenderness without being overwhelmed by it. Life is all about living and loving and letting go. Seems we’re saying goodbye when we’ve just said hello…I am so very grateful for music and even more grateful for remembering the power that it has to tell my stories for me and the power to seep into all the sore places and bring relief. So grateful and few words can adequately convey it. Sometimes it’s putting on upbeat Latin tunes that I can dance around the kitchen to, sometimes it’s gospel music transporting me back to my church days, and then sometimes it’s some deep, meaningful, slightly blue songs that reach just the right place. Ah yes. There is is. And my soul is grateful.
