This one was my aunt Lorraine’s. She got it new the year she finished high school, and she played it at every family get-together until she got married. Then it went in its case, and the case went under her bed, and that’s where it stayed for thirty years.
When she moved to the smaller place, she called me over and slid it out with her foot. The strings had gone brown. There was a bowling league schedule in the case from 1974, folded in half, with a grocery list on the back in her handwriting: eggs, oleo, and thread. I left it right where it was.
I had it cleaned up and put new strings on it, and that’s all I did. It still has the worn spot where her arm sat. I’m not much of a player. But on Sunday nights I take it out and play the two songs she taught me, and for a few minutes it sounds like her kitchen.
Walt
Told at the table · Night No. 3 · Sleepy Dog Guitars