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. . . . . .