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My Old Guitar

    My most valuable possession is an old, slightly warped blond guitar. It is the first instrument I taught myself how to play.

    It's nothing fancy, just a Madeira folk guitar, all scuffed and scratched and finger-printed. At the top is a bramble of copper-wound strings, each one hooked through the eye of a silver tuning key.

    The strings are stretched down a long, slim neck, its frets tarnished, the wood worn by years of fingers pressing chords and picking notes. The body of the Madeira is shaped like an enormous yellow pear, one that was slightly damaged in shipping. The blond wood has been chipped and gouged to gray, particularly where the pick guard fell off years ago.

    No, it's not a beautiful instrument, but it still lets me make music, and for that I will always treasure it. 

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