Blue Guitar turns 4

An author whose daily blogging streak is at least five times as long as mine (1,369 days and counting) spends many days hawking his books and other products, which I find somewhat distracting, but he sells quite a few more books than I, so maybe he’s onto something.

Four years ago this week, I looked over the draft of an eccentric little book I was writing and decided suddenly that it was finished. Using the magic of modern technology, I had the book on the market by nightfall.

The book was and is How to Play a Blue Guitar. It will teach you nothing about music beyond that contained in the short poem that serves as the title piece:

The way you play a blue guitar is the same as the way you play any guitar.

Essentially, one guitar plays the same as another: It’s built with the same workings, potential melodies and chords, hopes, and dreams as any other color guitar.

Kind of like people.

The book is comprised of 24 short pieces — essays, short stories, and poems for the most part. I’m quite proud of it. Published on impulse, it remains as representative a little book as anything I’ve ever assembled. It shouldn’t hang together but somehow it does, at least in my humble opinion.

The author I mentioned in the first paragraph seems to believe that if you can’t think of anything especially profound to write in your blog, then at least try to sell something. I enjoy his writing and find his advice helpful. That’s why today I’m inviting you to buy How to Play a Blue Guitar, the ebook, the paperback, or the hardcover.

Enjoy! Live! Love! Buy!

The garage door miracle

God has a sense of humor.

The garage door opener has been broken for close to a year. When I hit the button, the light flashes 10 times to tell me it’s not working. Sometimes it starts closing, then stops and goes back up. In either case I have to hold the button to make sure the door closes.

My routine for months has been: Pull the car out of the garage, click the remote and get out of the car while the lights flash, then hold the outside button until the door is closed. The door opens just fine, it just won’t close unless you hold down the button.

Last week I finally took the time to look at the door’s workings. It seems mice had gnawed through the wires on the north side of the door. I reconnected the wires, but still nothing happened. I figured one of these days I would have to call the dealer and get a professional to repair it, which I really can’t afford just now.

Then Friday I pulled the car out of the garage and clicked the remote. As I climbed out of the car, I noticed that the door was closing on its own. I watched, shocked, as the door went all the way down as it’s supposed to do.

“OK,” I said, and went about my business. And when I got home, the door again closed when I pushed the interior button. I didn’t have to hold it down.

Figuring it was a fluke, I pulled out of the garage Saturday, clicked the remote and opened the car door — but the door closed on its own.

Maybe it fixed itself? Maybe God fixed it?

When I came home I pulled into the garage, climbed out and pressed the button. Sure enough, the door started to descend on its own.

“OK, Lord, I guess you fixed it,” I said out loud. “I don’t believe it —”

At that very moment — at the very moment I said “I don’t believe it” — do you understand? I said “I don’t believe it” and right exactly then — the door stopped most of the way down and started going back up, malfunctioning just the way it had for the previous several months.

I laughed at God’s joke, and said, “OK, OK, I believe it, I guess you fixed the door for me, Lord.”

Sunday I pulled out of the garage, clicked the remote, and it closed just fine.

When I got home, I pulled in, got out of the car, and said out loud, “I believe you, Lord. Thank you.”

The door went all the way down.

You may believe God would not care one way or another if my garage door opener works.

I used to believe that, too.

Fear knot

Summer will be 3 years old in three months, and she has never been in the basement. It’s 10 steps from the deck down to the back yard, which she performs several times a day, but there’s something about the basement steps that stops her cold.

Willow, her predecessor, had a similar problem when she was a puppy. She would sit at the top of the basement stairs whining at me while I encouraged her to come down. Eventually, she overcame whatever was holding her back and joined me in the basement all the time.

But not Summer. Sum Sum is now an adult golden retriever who camps out at the top of the stairs and waits for me to finish whatever I’m doing and come up from the basement to see her.

What new experiences are you denying yourself because you’re uneasy about taking the plunge? Stop that. Come on down and see what you’re missing.