It seemed like just yesterday when my tall, good-looking guy friend, Mike H., proclaimed, “I’m going to give you a ukulele!” in that deep voice of his that always makes me melt – whether I hear him on the phone or in person.
I’ve known Mike since December 7th when I stumbled upon these four guys singing Irish folk songs at the coffee shop – Mike sang a beautiful, loud baritone so loudly that he didn’t need a microphone. I didn’t realize until he stood up that he’d suffered a stroke a few months prior and needed a cane. But he still exuded strength and still took my heart away when he looked right at me and said, “You seem like a fun person!”
That was it – we hung out that night and have been sort of seeing each other off and on – whenever he’s got time. I found out from mutual friends that Mike H. is probably one of the most talented musicians in the San Francisco Bay Area – he’s an accomplished bass player – playing in folk bands, rock n’ roll bands and even with symphonies – he commanded stringed instruments – as he said – guitar, bass, ukulele, mandolin, banjo – you name it.
Now as fate would have it, Mike can no longer play his instruments, but he still sings and he plays a little one-handed – I can feel the pain he feels, but cannot imagine what it would be like.
So I was surprised when Mike suddenly said, “I’m going to give you a ukulele.” It was such an honor.
Mike gave me the ukulele on a weeknight when he showed up at my house in his old van – apparently he’d lent his good car, a Toyota Prius, to his daughter to drive to southern California. We went out to eat and drove around in the van and parked on a dark side street to hang out for a little while.
“I brought the uke!” he said. He grabbed a small black plastic gig back shaped like a guitar, only smaller – it was so cute that it almost made me laugh – a ukulele, imagine that! We’d already talked about the ukulele via email. I had told Mike that since it was a baritone uke, larger than the typical tenor or soprano, then it’d be easy for me to play because they’re tuned like the top four strings of a guitar – and I already knew the guitar chords.
“But you must learn ukulele chords or you’ll sound just like a guitar when you play – I’m putting special Italian strings on your uke and you will learn ukulele chords! But if you really want me to put the regular ones on…”
“Oh no, it’s okay,” I’d said – full of doubt. How would I learn ukulele chords when all I’ve known for so many years were guitar chords?
The ukulele was way more beautiful than anything I’d imagined – dark wood, smaller than a guitar definitely, but not too tiny – Mike gave me the envelope that held the special Italian strings with it, a gig bag and even a strap. This was a really nice instrument – not just a cheap ukulele one would buy at a gift store in Maui. It really meant a lot that Mike had given it to me – being the musical guy that he is. I knew that he bought and sold expensive instruments and had quite a collection himself.
I thanked Mike and held the ukulele and played a little bit, not having any idea what I was playing. Mike managed to show me how to strum with his right hand – he showed me how you use one finger to strum the ukulele – very different than the way people strummed guitars.
I remembered how I thanked him – with a long, delicious, warm passionate kiss that seemed to last forever – before finally reluctantly getting out of the van and heading back upstairs to my funky apartment in Mountain View.
I was still trying to get my master’s degree, but that didn’t stop me from downloading ukulele chord diagrams from a cool website called Ukulele Boogaloo. I was determined to figure out the ukulele chords even though at first I’d get them confused with the guitar chords – before long, I could strum a couple of songs. I was excited about that.
That’s how it started – but how would I know that within the next couple of months, I’d get my master’s degree, and then receive 30-day notice to move out of our funky apartment – that we’d move to San Jose and then my car would get sideswiped while parked in the street – and “totaled,” as the insurance company called it?
But in the middle of it all, I kept strumming the ukulele – and it made me happy. I brought the uke with me everywhere and then one day happened to see a sign at my favorite coffee shop in Mountain View, right before we moved to San Jose – a day when I felt great sadness over leaving the town I’d grown to love and think of as home for so many years – that said, “Ukulele Jam on the second Monday of the Month!”
So I made my way to the jam, and next thing I knew, I was completely immersed in the ukulele playing world – strumming my way to the ukulele jams o Saturday morning at the beach in Santa Cruz and even to the burning uke campout where I spent four days playing the uke and singing…with loads of people – taking it to the limit.
Now, the guy who runs the Monday night jam in Mountain View has a family emergency, so we all must pitch in and help in any way we can – we’ve all offered to do it – but I had no idea that I’d be asked to teach the basic ukulele lesson – that somehow I was “volunteered.” Okay, so I’d jumped on the ukulele bandwagon, but who knew I’d actually teach a basic lesson on playing the uke when Ive just been playing a few months.