Thank you to everyone who offered sympathy and suggestions to help me deal with my loss. Your concerns comforted me in my time of need. Your suggestions helped me find my guitar pick. First I followed Michele’s suggestion and tuned in VH1 Classic. Black Sabbath was in concert. Ozzie looks bad, he’s bitten off one too many bat heads. The Great Master of Reality has kicked his a$$. Until Tom suggested I use a nose pick, I did not know there was such a thing. I could use one, but not for guitar plucking. As vulgar as Yank442’s suggestion was, at least it got me to thinking. Jeanne would never tell me to do that with my guitar pick and even if she did I would not do it. But that thought did make me aware of how suspicious I had become. I was looking at Jeanne and Muffin the way Jethro Gibbs looks at a murder suspect. Knowing suspicion fueled by hostility wouldn’t get me anywhere, I changed characters. What would Monk do? Putting my hands out, I started ‘divining’ the situation. Immediately I tripped over the room air purifier. Using the dresser to pull myself to my feet, at eye level with the dresser top, I noticed all my change was gone. DAMN! That Monk stuff really works. I remembered scooping up all the change and putting it in our softball travel expense bank. I figured the pick got mixed in with the change. Realizing the tiny deposit slot wouldn’t work for withdrawals, I placed a towel over the bank and stroked it firmly with my nearby practice putter, while coughing loudly to muffle my “crime”. No pick. I left the towel over the debris, hoping I could replace the bank before Jeanne noticed, just in case I was wrong about Jeanne not acting on Yank442’s suggestion. Remembering some of that change had come from a Reese’s Cup I had bought earlier, I went to the trash can. Perhaps the pick had gotten mixed up with the wrapper when I threw it away. No pick. No wrapper either. That’s when Gail’s suggestion, offered up in a literary style which would make Papa Hemingway jealous, came to mind; “Look inside the damn thing”. Assuming she was referring to my guitar and had nothing to do with Yank442’s suggestion, I had at first passed it off. My guitar was a solid body electric. I picked up my guitar, turned it around, and there, stuck to the back, was my pick stuck to a gooey Reese’s Cup wrapper. I’ve been waiting a long time to say this. “HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED”. After coming back from the store with my candy, I decided to play some [music]. I put my half-eaten peanut butter cup down, picked up my guitar, and started practicing F. A few minutes later nature called. I put the guitar back in its stand, but forgot about my snack. A few minutes after I sat down to practice, I noticed Muffin behaving oddly. She was barking at a half full water bottle on my dresser. I didn’t think much of it, figuring it was nothing I could make a song from. A few minutes passed and a horrible thought came to mind, “Did I lose 3 brand new balls at Rio Pinar yesterday, or was it 4. Unconsciously, I laid my guitar on the bed, ran out to the truck, opened up my golf bag and counted my golf balls. Because it was 4 balls I lost, 16 bucks, I had no more enthusiasm for practice. I put the guitar back on its stand, not noticing the pick was missing from its appointed place on the desk. When nature called me, it called Muffin too. The Reese’s Cup I left on the bed was too much of a temptation for Muffin to deny. Then when the emergency alarm went off in my head about how many golf balls I owned and I threw the Fender on the bed, it landed on the wrapper, trapping my pick with it. Thank you Gail, it was ‘on back of the damn thing’. To all of you I offer; “B3 B2 B0 B3 B0 G0 B0. That’s guitar tablature for ‘Thank you for being a [facebook] friend”.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Nov 2014 11:58:36 +0000