There isn’t much in my funky apartment that’s in “mint condition.” Everything in my old-school kitchen is older – or cheap. And I don’t even have a decent set of pots and pans. I’m not sure what happened to all of our spoons either – it’s like the supply of silverware is waning – and even a couple of my beloved Beatles mugs have broken. I don’t have the heart to throw them away. There they sit in the corner behind the microwave waiting to get fixed.
Only the guitars remain in good condition – all three of them – and now a baritone ukulele to add to the mix. The classical guitar with the nylon strings that I bought from the Mountain View Music Store before it closed back in 1998 still remains in mint condition along with the steel-stringed six string Jasmine guitar that I stole from my son Stevie over 10 years ago – along with the cool electric guitar that I’d won in a raffle years ago – autographed by all the guy sin the White Album Ensemble – needed a bit of TLC after my daughter messed with the wammie crank – but it still remains in good shape as well.
There are bunches of books – way too many probably, but many of them are in mint condition – some are old.
As I sit here drinking my mint mocha drink which has altered quite a bit from the double mint mocha days – can’t take 500 calories of sugary stuff anymore – I think of all the things I’ve lost over the years – and how some of it I don’t miss, but some of it I do…
My guitars gently weep for the past but embrace the future.
Life is fragile and sadly, it’s possible the guitars might outlive us all – or they might not. My Dad reminded me of it when he called yesterday and spoke of his sister, my Aunt Annemarie who has Alzheimer’s now – and she may or may not remember us all. It made me sad because the last time I saw Aunt Annemarie, she’d come to visit and when I asked how long she was going to stay with us, “I’m not on any timelines honey!” I loved it – and I loved it when she talked about how if she saw a body of water, she’d always feel the desire to swim in it no matter where it was, whether it was a lake or a river.
Aunt Annemarie stayed with us for around nine days. She slept in the extra single bed in Megan’s bedroom and told us lots of stories about back in the day – even before my Dad was born when my Grandpa lived in Brazil before moving to the United States.
Does Aunt Annemarie still remember?
I hope so.