I miss my stringed instruments. I really need to shut the words off and make more music. Not just whistling while doing chores.
A story. Christmas of... must have been 1969. Everybody's opening presents, one thing after another, and I had only gotten like two things, maybe new socks and a new sweater. The flurry of paper and ribbon dies down, and I looked around at the piles of stuff my siblings got, and at my socks... and wondered what I had done wrong. My mother was looking at the younger kids and smiling, and then she looked at me. I saw Mom's smile disappear, and she said, "Oh my God, honey, wait just a minute!" She left the room for a few minutes, and came back. With a guitar case. With a classical guitar in it. My guitar. Because it was expensive, I didn't get so many Christmas gifts. But I got the best. But they they almost forgot to give it to me.
At first I tried to play the way I thought I ought to play. That didn't work. Eventually I learned enough chords to be able to strum and sing along. Like the writing, my music may not be done well, but there is a satisfaction in the making of it.
Anyway. Need to do more of that. Break out the Christmas music before the Christmas season is all gone.