Putting in my Audience Time

It is the season of music here. Not only has Checkered been listening to Christmas music since November 1, but this is the week of plays and recitals. Sunday was the Christmas play at church where two of our boys did some acting. See the leukemia/hope shirt? Checkered made that. He's a mighty talented guy!

This boy made us proud just by being in front of a crowd - a very difficult challenge for him. He never sang a single word or did the hand motions, but he stood there up there the entire time, and that was wonderful.


Last night was a vocal recital. Our daughter did admirably when the accompaniment track played for her was NOT the track she had used in rehearsal. Our son? Well, he enjoys the spotlight.

Tonight is the high school choir concert, and then we're done until January when the kids' musicals begin.

Honestly, I think the entertainment value has been amazing.

My New Axe

My family gave me a new guitar for my birthday. That gift was such a sweet gesture that I have been playing it incessantly. However, as a guitarist, I stink. Royally.

In seeking to understand this problem, I have explored all possible causes and I have found that I am anatomically incompatible with guitars. Not that that explains the foggy chords really.

So what is one to do it is discovered that he or she is guitarly impaired?

Obviously, the answer is to play very, very loudly.

Vintage Music

Allow me to introduce you to my guitar.



It is approximately 36 years old.

Now here is the story:

When I was 9 we moved from Massachusetts to Missouri. The move was tough on all of us, and only became worse when I was placed in a classroom with a teacher who had no business teaching. She was a screamer, an insulter, a threatener, and to add to that, I now understand that she was dying. It was absolutely the worst year of school for me.

That year guitar lessons were being offered after school, and my parents signed me up. I was given the use of my aunt's guitar and that was a problem for me. The guitar was OLD. It didn't look like anyone else's in the class and I was completely embarrassed. My wonderful parents eventually saved and bought me a brand new guitar that I loved. It was beautiful. It smelled wonderful and I spent hours holding it.

But the guitar was just a little too big for me, my fine motor skills were a little too weak, and the lessons weren't taught by the most effective guitar teacher. I made very little playing progress and I was relieved when the lessons ended and the guitar was put away for good.

But I never sold that guitar and it moved with me to Kentucky and around and about until it came to live in my current house.

A couple of weeks ago, in a rare cleaning frenzy, I pulled the guitar out, determined to donate it to the Salvation Army. But I was overcome by guilt. I thought of that horrible year and how the teacher had proclaimed me a frustration, an embarrassment, and a failure. I thought of my parents working hard as a teacher and a pastor to save their small pay to buy a guitar I wouldn't be ashamed of. I thought of all I've managed to accomplish with the Lord's grace.

And I picked up a chord chart. I picked up that guitar. I tuned it. And I began to play.

Joe Satriani I'm not, but I do know a handful of songs now and there's no more looking back.

Thanks, Mom and Dad, for my guitar!