Okay, I’m a farm girl!
I had never heard of things like this!
Sigh . . .
I learned to play the guitar when I was twelve.
After an afternoon spent with my big brother, Jerry.
He made it look like so much fun.
We were sitting downstairs on the piano bench.
With an opened ‘Reader’s Digest’ music book propped up on the piano.
We were singing, “When You Wore a Tulip”.
With Jerry strumming the guitar enthusiastically.
Picture it: “When you wore a tulip, a sweet, yellow tulip, and I wore a big red rose” . . . whereupon (good word) he’d stop and say, just under his breath, but completely in rhythm, “I don’t know that chord!”
“When you caressed me . . .” And the song would continue.
We sang and laughed for hours.
After that, I insisted on learning to play.
Patiently, he handed me the guitar and then taught me.
Fortunately for him, I caught on quickly.
And went on playing.
I was never an expert, but I enjoyed myself and played for family and friends.
Moving ahead . . .
I was happily playing “Puff the Magic Dragon” for my two young sons.
Well, ‘playing’ would be largely a misnomer at this point, because the oldest one kept trying to ‘help’.
Resulting in the dull ‘thump’ of a muted string.
Finally, one of the strings broke.
I removed it and coiled it, then set it aside.
When my Husby returned home that evening, I handed him the string and asked if he could pick me up another.
He nodded. “Sure.” Then, “Do you know which string it is?”
“You want me to pick you up a new G-string?” He started to laugh.
I nodded. “Yeah. I need a new ‘G’ string.” I frowned at him. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you just asked me to pick you up a new G-string.”
I stared. Was he getting goofy? Had marriage and fatherhood finally tipped him over the edge?
“Yeah. I broke my ‘G’ string and I need a new one.”
“You broke . . .?” He laughed harder, bending over and holding his sides.
“Yeah. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” He wiped his eyes.
“Well, can you get me a new ‘G’ string?”
Another paroxysm (ooh, another good word) of laughter.
Then, finally, “You don’t know what a G-string is, do you?”
Remember where I said the words, ‘farm girl’? That would apply here.
“Oh.” I suddenly understood his laughter.
He got me the string.
After a laugh with the guy in the guitar shop.
But, in true Tolley fashion, never let me forget the lesson . . .