Dear Guitar

To my dear guitar,

I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me, my Takamine beauty. You have a wonderful sound and I use you for more than the classical music you were made for.

With your versatility, I can jam and rock out all I want. It helps, of course, that no one is listening, but even so, you hold a special place in my heart because you allow me a different mode of creativity.

My Takamine, you are also the first guitar that I picked out for myself. Prior to you, my guitars had been given to me by others, but you, my dear, were my choice. I remember sitting down in the Fret Mill in downtown Roanoke over 20 years ago and playing you. Your neck felt good, I loved the feel of the nylon strings, and I even liked the fact that as a classical guitar you lacked the little neck markings of a western. That meant I'd really have to learn the fret board if I wanted to play you well. I loved the smaller body and your gorgeous sound.

Over the years, you've developed a little bend in the neck and the strings do not lay quite so well near the guitar body as they once did, slowing the action of the neck, but that only shows you've aged well. You're not marred with scars or other markings because I've taken good care of you, though there are places where I've played you so much that you can see where I've touched you. I've given you polish and shine, changed your strings, and lovely caressed you, much as I might caress the cheek of a lover.

My fingers find their places on your neck without my thinking of it, and then sound rings out softly or strongly, depending on my mood and my song. You have hummed quietly while I worked out the chords to a new song, or attempted a different strumming rhythm. You've patiently sat there while I wrote the words to my own songs, few though they are.

You have caught my tears when I've sang Starry Starry Night, a Don McLean tune that always makes me cry. You've felt the beat of my heart as I've driven home the last refrains of Stairway to Heaven. You've winced, I'm sure, as I've attempted Sweet Home Alabama and never yet successfully figured it out.

My dear, sweet, lovely guitar, you have and continue to bring me much joy. You sit patiently, sometimes for months, until I remember you, and you are always there. Sometimes you've gone a little moody on me and are a little out of tune - weather will do that - but with a twist of a key, you forgive me and the sounds again sing out.

You know, my dear little guitar, that I am not and never will be, the most accomplished of players. I am dabbler, a jill-of-all-trades, but I love you as an instrument and as an extension of my soul. I hope, my little Takamine, that you have enjoyed your time with me, and will continue to be my darling little guitar, always.

My sweet little guitar.