Amish Guitar

I came across a letter the other day. It was a letter I had written 20 years ago to a friend, but never sent it. Apparently my friend and I had shared sharp words. It's not unusual for me to write letters and then not send them. It is unusual for me to keep them, however. I found the letter in an old notebook I had kept from high school. And it's been bugging for a few days now.

I don't remember having a tiff with Susan in '89, but the tone of my words have really stirred something up. She had taken me to task, apparently, for not being happy. My reply was to say "what if I'm just a sad person?" This would have been 2 years before I ever knew from depression, three before I was diagnosed with depression myself.

And still the question remains, "what if I'm just a sad person?"

Granted, I'm no longer a 19 year old young man with more ideas about life than experience. Granted I have a better understanding about the causes and effects of this particular mental illness. It still a struggle, though, trying to work my way through emotions brought on by the brain chemistry and those brought on by situation.

Twenty years, or more, have gone by since I first began to ask those questions. Intellectually I know I am closer to being whole than I feel a large part of the time. I have learned to trust that the sadness I feel is not real, if only to keep it from taking me further down. Still, the struggle remains.

Depression is hard to explain to those who don't know, don't understand. Picking yourself up by your bootstraps can take you far while dealing with a depressive cycle. Sometimes, however, the straps break. Sometimes the cognitive practices you learn to get you through the cycle don't do the job. Sometimes you are simply at the mercy of overwhelming emotions.

I have nearly always experienced depression as an intense and singular sadness. Others describe angst, low energy, anger. For me, I always feel like I've just spent the last hour having a good cry...except that I haven't. And realizing now that my 19 year old self had already identified that actually gives me some hope. It's easy to feel, when I'm depressed, that nothing happened before the cycle and I can't imagine a future after the cycle is played out. Knowing that a young man was already figuring these things out 20 years ago actually gives me some encouragement to stay in the fight.

As for my friend, I'm sure we made up after that incident. We did have a spectacular fall out in college, though I seem to be the only one that remembers it. And, having taken pains to make amends, am enjoying a renewed friendship with her.

I just wonder what her answer would be, now, to the question I wanted to pose 20 years ago.

Last Thursday my family and I attended daughter #1's spring concert. It's always been an interesting concert that involves the bands of all three age levels: elementary, junior high and high school. Some years the three bands even play the same piece (but not this year). But this isn't a post about her wonderful performance. That's something I'll keep to myself and relish with joy.

Well, you all know how I feel about returning to my high school for musical events (for you newcomers, check out this post). Thursday was no different. I wanted to be anywhere but there, except for the fact that I knew it was important to my daughter. I was a bundle of nerves.

It turned out to be an incredibly cathartic experience. The high school concert band was simply astonishing. They performed a piece called Appalachian Morning (found here, but not by my Alma Mater[and not nearly the same as hearing it live]).

I was simply blown away. I closed my eyes without knowing it and was moved to tears. When it was over, I was truly surprised to find myself in an auditorium surrounded by people.

I have forgotten just about every good thing I had while involved in high school music. I have resisted exploring those memories and remembering those friends. I have focused so much of my high school memories on the unpleasant, the conflict, the pigeonholing, the self imposed labels.

Yet, in one evening, I was transported back twenty years and found myself in familiar, happy surroundings.

It has been a wonderful three years rediscovering music with the guitar. But, if I'm really honest, the French Horn will always be my first love, the instrument that first comes to mind when I think of my musicianship. I can't help it. I am a horn player first, despite the fact I haven't picked the dang thing up in over ten years.

Each band present their annual awards that evening. I was so happy for these young people. It was the Senior students' last performance and, as they came forward to be praised by their director, I felt envy. A quiet, happy envy, because I could still see in those seven kids the young man I had been.

It has been a long week. An incredibly long week. I've spent the past 10 days taking care of house and home by myself as my wife recovers in hospital from a sudden illness. Well, lets say a lingering illness that suddenly got worse. At any rate, it's been a long week.

Tonight, however, and with my wife's blessing, I spent the evening with a friend playing guitar and cracking wise. My in-laws came to town and, naturally, they wanted to see their daughter at the hospital. Quite honestly, I was pleased for the break. My parents took the kids for the evening leaving me free to spend time with Doug.

Doug and I have been trying to get together to play for over a year now. Just never seemed to work out. As it was, I couldn't have asked for a nicer time. We sat in his kitchen playing songs, drinking beverages (him:beer, me: Diet. Dr. Pepper--but I really wanted a beer--damn low carb diet) and just generally catching up with each other. It isn't often he gets an evening away from his family either, but his daughter had a swim meet in Indianapolis and he couldn't get away from work obligations.

It was a good mix. I can't play to his level and he can't sing to mine, so we either sounded great or we sounded like crap. But we had fun.

And I feel so much better.

I've been away for the weekend enjoying myself at our church's annual winter retreat. I apparently looked like I was angry the whole weekend because people kept asking me if I was ok or what I was pissed off about. It was rather surprising as I didn't feel angry. I was, I'll admit, quite stressed. I am an introvert by nature and find it very stressful at these retreats. Being around people, even people I love and think the world of, drains me and can get me pretty sour.

Why was I sharing this? Oh yeah, people kept asking me if I was angry. I wasn't. I've been lost in thought a lot lately. I recently remade contact with an old friend from high school. She was a close friend that meant a lot to me, more than she'll ever know. She was closer than any male friend I've ever had. She was simply a best friend. And I deserted that friendship 15 years ago after a spat that is way too complicated to explain here.

I tried to apologize once over the last 15 years, but I think both of us knew it was a half assed apology. I've been wrestling with my guilt over that dissolution now that we're back in contact. It was that guilt that others were reading on my face.

Saturday evening of the retreat, the common area where we had the talent show had fairly well cleared out. There was a fire in the hearth and the dozen or so members who stuck around were playing games or reading. I had been avoiding playing guitar in the common area partly out of modesty and partly out of not wanting to annoy. But, my mood was getting the better of me and I needed to play. I got out my guitar, sat by the fire and strummed. I played some of my favorite progressions as well as some Travis picking that I'm always trying to do better at. Mostly I just noodled while watching the fire and felt my mind go blank for a while. A friend pulled up a chair next to me and pulled out a book. I asked if I was bothering her after a while and she said no. I got the impression that she was enjoying the music.

The combination of the guitar, the fire and the friend was joy to experience. It was exactly what I had been looking for. It was a time to reflect and make some decisions. It was restoration. It was relief. It was release.

Apparently I still looked pissed off because people still kept asking, but, really, I was just lost in thought.

I've written to my friend from my youth. I decided to offer a full apology in place of the half assed one. I'm afraid that bringing up the past will undo the tentative connection we've reestablished. On the other hand, I know that I have offered myself in sincerity and can now live with myself for finally admitting that I was wrong.

1/26/09 Follow Up for anyone who made it this far: I am forgiven. And another troubling chapter of my past is at peace.

I've mentioned Doug before. He's the friend who gave me a painfully honest apprasial of a song I wrote and he's the one that just a little hyper to have everyone use their pinky on the high E string when playing a G chord. Oh, and he gave Jane her first ding. Still, he is a great friend and I love him like a brother.

But now he's given me GAS. That's Guitar Acquisition Syndrome.

It happened suddenly and in a very public place.

We are both musicians in the church praise team. Yesterday, as we were getting our guitars off the stands to play, he whispers to me "Let's trade." And since I like doing silly things, we traded. My A&L Folk for his A&L Dreadnought.

Now, I've always eschewed dreds, complaining that the bassiness makes them sound muddy to my ear. I've always felt I prefer the caramel mid tones of my folk. Well, that might certainly have been true in the beginning of my stringed instrument journey. A heavy bass would have been distracting for me as I attempted to produced a balanced sound. Yesterday, however, I found I ADORED that bass--that I was looking forward to the chords that play all six strings or even better, the E chord with the open low E. It was delicious.

So, what am I to do? If I spend my "allowance" for a new guitar, I will risk the ire of Mrs. Amish. While I do have enough saved up, things are tight enough in other areas of the budget that to buy something so unnecessary would be, well, in the words of my youngest daughter, ungood.

I did, however, float an idea over to Doug. I know he has wanted to upgrade his guitar to a solid top. So, I suggested I buy his for about a hundred less than what he paid for it, and he can use that money for a newer, more exciting guitar with whitewalls and other bells and whistles.

He's considering it.

Stay tuned. The Amish Guitar may become a three guitar household after all...

The things I have learned that are obvious in retrospect:

10. Learning guitar is a journey, not a means to an end. There is a guy that plays in our praise team at church that can just to marvelous things with his guitar. I can't even describe it. He makes the instrument sing, making it another voice in the ensemble rather than just an accompanying sound and rhythm. His skill just amazes and humbles me. And yet, to hear him talk of musicians he's met, I realize that he feels like he's in the same boat as me. He talks of being amazed and humbled by the abilities of others and he is far from being done in his quest in learning more.

9. Guitarists share their knowledge. Unlike other hobbies, and perhaps other musicians, I've yet to meet a guitarist who isn't willing to take a moment and answer the question "how did you do that?" I may not always understand what they've shown me, but I always appreciate it when friends and strangers alike take their time.

8. Everybody has problems with the F chord when beginning. I remember when I first read about barre chords and realized that, if I just learn how to do one, then I can move it up and down the neck and have dozens of chords at my disposal. Well, as we all know, it isn't as simple as all that. It's true that those dozen of chords are available, but it won't come as easily as all that. I've since learned of several guitarists, including professionals, that never learned barre shapes and more than a few who use alternative tunings to avoid the dreaded F. This is a learning curve for everybody.

7. Dings are not the end of the world. Like most guitarists, I would prefer a blemish free instrument. The first ding I got, I thought my world would end. I hadn't even caused it. It happened during the period of time I was laid up with my broken leg. My guitar really needed to have the strings changed and a friend offered to do so when he came by for a visit. When he retrieved my guitar, he didn't see that the case was unlatched. Bang! The drop left a ding about the size of a pencil eraser on the treble side of the upper bout. Doug was about beside himself and I was pretty put out as well. But, accidents happen and I immediately realized that it was bound to happen sooner or later. Now, whenever I see that ding, I don't think of the accident, I think of the day a friend came to visit.

6. The price of a guitar isn't what makes one happy. I have a plywood guitar. No, it isn't going to sound like a solid top and it certainly isn't going to sound like a custom build. But I really like the sound of my Art & Lutherie Folk. I can honestly say that I am not envious of the more expensive guitars my friends have nor do I have the dreaded GAS (Guitar Acquisition Syndrome). I'm happy with what I have and to go beyond would be, for me, a waste of my hard earned dollar. I don't begrudge any friend or any player that has a more expensive piece or think they've spent too much. Some play semi-professionally. Others have been blessed with the means to buy at a higher scale. I am very happy for them. Someday I would like a third guitar, probably a solid top dred, but I'm in no hurry.

5. Not everyone is going to be as enthused about guitars as I am. Even friends who play guitars. Even though I am approaching two years since I learned my first chord, it is still very new and exciting. Having had a musical life before guitar, I'm vaguely aware of what possibilities there are out there to still learn. It is easy for me to become a fanatic and want everyone to share in my excitement. However, not everyone is going to want to hear me play. Not everyone will want to endure listening to me noodle. And, more to the point, not all of my guitar playing friends will have the same level of interest that I have right now--perhaps it's old hat for them now, or perhaps it doesn't mean the same thing to them as it does to me. Learning to curb my enthusiasm and choose when and where to play goes a long way in earning respect as a player.

4. Get a good set up. A bad guitar can possibly be tweaked to be a decent guitar. A good guitar can definitely be adjusted to be a great guitar. A bad guitar forces the player to adjust to the instrument. A good set up adjusts the instrument to the player. But, I'm cautious of who I have work on my guitar. The shop were I purchased my guitar has a set up and repair service. I might trust them with simple repairs or nut replacement. But, when I asked about setting up the guitar to adjust the action, their response was to "crank down the truss rod." Well, I've read enough to know that's not the right way to do it. I have had great luck in taking my guitars into a local luthier. A little pricier and a little longer wait, but worth it.

3. Changing strings can be fun. It used to drive me nuts. Trying to keep the pins in, keeping the coils on the machine heads nice and neat. Bah! However, after learning some of the basic skills in doing so, I now look forward to changing strings. I look forward to it in an almost "Zen and the art of Guitar Maintenance" sort of way. It gives me a chance to, pardon the pun, unwind. I take the time to look over every inch of the instrument, wipe down all the fingerprints and clean out the frets. I've realized that it isn't a race to get it over and done with as soon as possible. It's a chance to forget everything else and focus in on one task. And the end result is guaranteed to be an improvement on what I started with.

2. Music is moving. Well duh. Still, I am constantly surprised at hearing my emotions in the chords, rhythms, syncopation, volume, tempo, harmonies and vibrations flowing forth from my guitar. All too often I'm not even consciously aware of what I'm feeling until I hear it. Playing has been, at times, a gift from God in getting me through some hard times. Other times it is just a joy to play because it just makes me happy.

1. Playing guitar is fun. It wasn't always. Looking through this list and I can remember times along the way I didn't know or believe or want to believe what I've just written. That guitar playing is fun is definitely one of them. At times, playing, or more to the point, learning to play, is nothing more than an exercise in pure frustration. Trying to hit that C chord cleanly after a G can still give me fits. But, with time and practice, I have come to the point that I know each time I pick up Jane or Patrick, I will make music. I may not achieve my goals for the time. I may not be able to push past the barriers I have in my skills. But, what I can do, is sufficient, if I let it be so.

Fourteen years ago on this date, I wedded the love of my life. I could not ask for a more caring, patient or loving companion.

When I proposed in October, 1993, I wrote a song with the last verse as the proposal. I sang it a Capella as I (obviously) didn't play guitar then. I will be the first to admit that these aren't the strongest lyrics. Ok, they can be downright corny. But that hasn't kept this song from being special to the both of us. This is the first song I sang for my wife after purchasing my first guitar.



Untitled

There's a girl, who is so dear
And I want to have her always near
She's a friend, and so much more
There's no one in the world I more adore

Chorus:
But when she touches my hand, and holds me tight
I never know if its wrong or right
To feel the way I do right now
I want to tell her so but I don't know how

Her eyes, like the autumn night
Sparkle and glow, they shine so bright
And her laugh, like the spring time rain
It bubbles and flows, it fills me again

(Chorus)

When I'm with her, I cannot be afraid
Of what life has in store, or the troubles I've made
Me with her, and her with me
Together we can live so happily

(Chorus)

Come with me
And share my life
Together we can be as husband and wife
Take my hand
I'll stand by your side
If only you'd say you'd be my bride

Coda:
And when you touch my hand and hold me tight
I know now that it's only right
To feel the way, I do with you
Won't you say that you feel the same way too.

(c) K. Jay 1993

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.
-- Victor Hugo, French dramatist, novelist, & poet (1802 - 1885)

Last evening was a rather tough one for me. Without going to much boring detail, I have been dealing with a friendship that is slowly dissolving. It is very hard on me as I have a lot of affection for this friend. I had to decide if it was worth it to continue pouring my energy into this friendship when I have felt this person's reciprocation diminish for almost a year now. Last night I reluctantly decided it was not.

I was at a real loss as to what to do to keep myself busy. As you might have guessed, I picked up my guitar and started strumming to a chord progression my teacher had taught me Tuesday night. The progression is E, B, A, B, E x2 then B, A, B, A, B, A, E. Now, A and B are a different voicing. Take the E shape and slide it up so you have 099800 for B and 077600 for A. Since it is an open chord, it provides a nice drone on the low E and the high B and E strings.

From the very first strum I was shocked at how angry my guitar sounded. Rage just kept pouring out of it. I kept the strumming on the treble side for the A and B, smacking that low E when I returned to the E chord. The droning treble rang in my ears filling every space with a hot white sear. Yet the subtle chord changes between A and B moved like a dove, bringing some measure of peace to my heart. I played with the strum posted yesterday. I must have played that progression over and over for a good twenty minutes.

And then it was time to stop.

I put my guitar away and felt a hungry emptiness. My anger was gone, my hurt assuaged. I was hollowed out, but the nothing felt better than the anger that had been there-anger I didn't realize I had nor how deep I felt it. That is perhaps the single most magical part of making music for me. Whether I play for myself or for other people, I find my most basic emotions singing in the music--feelings I may not even be aware of. It can restore, it can heal.

I set my guitar case beside the piano and climbed into bed with my wife. Her first question was "are you ok? That sounded angry and sad at the same time." I talked with her about my friend for awhile, a conversation that was an equal to the playing in restoration.

*edited 6/19/08 11:30 PM EDT