I could just cry. “Somehow that guitar was made for you all those years ago; now you’ll make inspiring music with it. I’m
honored to have been a facilitator–can’t wait to hear you play it!” Thus wrote Scott, the guy who just gave me this gorgeous 1930s metal Rickenbacker lap steel guitar. Scott had seen us perform few times this year in Virginia at the great club Iota, and we’d had a couple good chats at the shows. He later read my travelogue posting in October wherein I marvelled over this very guitar at a shop in Portland, Oregon. He offered to bring it into my life. Finally, here it is in my hands, sounding even more magical than I remember it. As unpredictable and exhausting as the music business can be, people like Scott never let me forget that I’m utterly blessed to live my life in the realm of music. (My dog Sailor feels blessed, too. And ready for a nap.)

(Sent from my mobile phone.)