When I was a little girl (around 8 or so) I started asking (read: begging) for a guitar or a piano. That’s all I wanted. I even asked Santa. Money was really, squeaky tight in my family, so it was one thing my mom couldn’t give me, and I learned at a young age to never ask my dad for anything. When I was in fourth grade I played the flute as part of my school’s music program (Shut up, Wyatt) and I did really well (Shut up, Wyatt!). In fact, I couldn’t wait to go to that school because that meant I could take music lessons. When the school year was finished, we didn’t have the money for me to continue, so that was that.
The past three years (since I got sick), I’ve been trying to take more risks and live a little. As a lot of you know, my job pretty much consumes my life, so I’ve been wanting to do something that would take my mind off of it. The past year I’ve hemmed and hawed about taking guitar lessons. Finally, last week, I shook off the fear of looking dumb and went to my local music store and signed up for guitar lessons.
Tonight, I had my first lesson. What a freakin’ trip. First, my instructor was ripped-drunk as a skunk. It was kind of funny, because I kept f’king with his head and being a smart-ass. He gave me an hour and a half lesson, for which I will only pay a half hour’s fee. They gave me a loaner guitar until I get mine. He actually did a good job, but the drunkenness kept taking him to “zen-musicianville.” I know that town really well from hanging out with many drunk musicians. Well, I was usually one of the drunks, too. He finally fessed up at the end of the lesson and apologized. It’s all good. If he does it again, I won’t go back. However, I’ll give him a second chance. I did learn some stuff and I have a week to practice. He didn’t even make me pay.
There is one really cool guy that repairs guitars. He played his guitar for me and went into the “philosophy” of why a person should want to play music. I was giggling on the inside because I have had many of those conversations in the past and tonight was probably the first time I’ve been a part of one of those conversations sober. I was kind of wishing that he could give me lessons. He was cool, and I’m told he speaks to no one, so he must of thought I had a brain.
Good thing I have a sense of humor and understand people. And for the record I learned my nails are too long, I was born with rhythm, I need to learn to relax my left hand (but I’m skeerd of f’king up), and I have numb fingertips. Philosophy dude said to use epsom salts and water to soak my hand and that I should be sure to moisturize. Heh…gotta take care of those hands. My “teacher” promised I’d be jamming like crazy by July. Yeah, but he was drunk! HA! (Btw., philosophy guy said zen guy is never like the way he was tonight. It better NEVER happen again.)
Evel Knievel died today. He spent many years risking his well-being, often at great harm to himelf, to make a living and a life as a “dare devil.” 
RT's Ponderings 