2002-10-19 - 5:49 p.m.
THE GUITAR
Everyone seems to have at least one person�and sometimes more�who seems to take much more than that person gives. On broader-minded days, these people are the weak and the needy. On less broad-minded days, these people are leeches who suck energy, attention, and time. Getting rid of these people has never seemed a good option, no matter how appealing an option it may look at a particular moment. Having a reminder that even those least capable of giving sometimes do helps. That�s why I�m glad that Mr. Philately�s guitar sits in my living room.
No, I�m not suggesting that Mr. Philately seems to take more than he gives. He is a very giving man with large reserves of strength, love, and discipline. The only item he takes without giving around here is space: shelf space, floor space, and cabinet space. He can�t help himself there. It�s the stamps that make him do it. But I�m willing to sacrifice the space (although I reserve the right to refuse to sacrifice it graciously) because he has only the one area in which he is a vacuum and who doesn�t have at least one area like that.
The significance of the guitar is not the receiver of the guitar. The significance comes from the giver. The giver inherited the guitar after the death of a friend. Although she does not play the guitar, she could have kept it to remember. But she didn�t. She thought about Mr. Philately. She thought about his love of music and his love of playing the guitar. She thought about his lack of a guitar (although that�s because he dislikes my folk guitars and this one is a classical guitar.) She took that guitar and gave it to him.
And that guitar has brought music into my home with an intensity that I would not have believed possible. This house has always been a musical house. Kat, Day-Hay, and I love to sing. Kat takes the singing a step further and bursts into spontaneous harmonies when we sing together. (It truly is strange to hear a voice almost exactly like my own suddenly sing different notes next to me but it�s awesome too�in the sense of real awe.) Day-Hay and Mr. Philately whistle tunefully as Kat and I have never learned to do. We play assorted instruments�piano, viola, autoharp, flute�from time to time. But we have never played any of those instruments the way the guitar has been played.
Mr. Philately walks past this guitar, picks it up, and plays for a few minutes or for a long time. His music wafts out of the living room and fills this small house. Kat picked his guitar up and asked Mr. Philately to teach her to play and he has. Kat plays and sings and her music fills the house too. Sometimes Kat plays and Day-Hay dances around and around the living room. The sound of that music is the sound of love.
And the guitar itself? Even when no one is playing it, it sends a message. If you look at it and listen very quietly, it speaks. �Even the least able to give among us sometimes can give the right gift at the right time,� it whispers. �Don�t write anyone off even when sorely tempted.�
The guitar, you see, reminds me why I should face the music.
LAST YEAR: Just for the Weather
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
The Mildew of Boredom
Get Up and Go
Second Mothers
Nice
Fog
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
