In 1962, my parents bought me a guitar. Not just any guitar but a Martin O-18. A pristine, unused 1960 model. It was an extravagence they could not afford — but did.
My Martin traveled to college with me. To law school. I played in a group early on with two girls from my church — “Scott & the Bookends” (yes I know). If we couldn’t get a gig as “Scott & the Bookends,” we went by the name “The Corydon Trio.” For my daughter, I played every night when she went to bed — from the day we brought her home from the hospital and for years (see post of 8/14/11).
I love my guitar and I still strum it nearly every day. Usually the same old stuff (mostly the Blues) but sometimes new stuff to stretch my brain. Ten years ago, I started taking lessons — every Monday until shortly before my daughter got married. What a hoot!
A few years ago, I called the Martin Guitar Company about doing a little fixup (tuning keys, frets, etc.) and they said that if I was the original owner, it was still under (lifetime) warranty. I found the paperwork and got a “new” guitar back.
I’ve told Donna that maybe I should try and get the Bookends back together and we could go on the road. Her response? “Don’t quit the day job, Elvis.” (Sigh) Rock on. . . . . .