I Close My Eyes, And Enter My Dreams posted 5/5/2008 7:52:16 PM | 79 kudos what's this?     report abuse

Tunes4u

Ten days ago, Cliff walked into my shop, clutching an old guitar by it's neck, wearing his usual old cowboy boots and sporting mud up to the knees of his Wrangler jeans. Silk scarf around his neck, like the rough riders wore, and that too was splattered with mud. His hands as hard as anvils, but clean. They looked dirty, kinda like the rest of him, yet he is clean. Know what I mean?

Old Cliff is a life long full blooded Wyoming resident, and that pedigree goes back for generations in his family.

Cliff is mud.

He is hard outdoor work, personified. Fence riding, ditch digging cattle brandin' hard clean living man. Virtually no formal education, but more common sense than any man I know. A brother of the earth.

He comes into the shop about once every 2-3 months, when he can get out. Mud is very often the reason he can't get to town. Work is the other reason. A woman is not the problem, as he "ain't got one." Says they are like elephants...cool to look at, but wouldn;t want one. The man works from sun-up to sundown. Then he plays a little banjo or guitar in the evening, and starts the cycle over again.

This guitar is almost totaled. At first glance I can see it is trashed, abused and neglected. He tells me a bit of it's history out there on the ranch. It's been used as a club, a canoe paddle, a fly swatter and a baseball bat. It has been dropped, thrown, flown, and even shot. An entrance wound and an exit wound are quite visible in the guitar body. Cracks and puncture wounds abound. There were three strings left on the old thing. The most amazing part though is, the top is worn through in a number of places, just like willie Nelson's guitar. It has also been played! A lot! But, many years ago. It hasn't had a tune come out of there for a long long time.
The thing is filthy. Gobs of horse sweat mixed with man sweat and dirt just cake this poor old thing. Campfire smoke...saddle grease...you name it. But as soon as I get close enough, I see the diamond inside the chunk of coal. It's like I recognise an old friend who has been down on his luck. It's light as a feather and I can feel the vibrations of an idling car in the body. The car is outside. This is gonna be good, if it can be brought back from the brink. It's a gamble.

But I had high hopes for it's recovery, and I was right. Not only does it sound great, but there was something inside it I wasn't expecting.

This poor thing needs help, and so I call my guitar repair guy and he comes and picks it up and takes it home. Says it will be a while. I want to ask him to hurry, but don't. I want it to at least have a chance.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, in a peaceful beautiful place called Wales, or somewhere like that, a pretty young lady posts a blog on a place called Matchdoctor. It is a poem. Well...part of a song the way I saw it.
When I read it, it's like I recognise an old passage from some book I read back in my youth. Like this poem is speaking to my heart and my experiences with love. Like I have read it before. It is short and oh so bitter sweet.

I think to myself this is a song, but it needs one more verse. Do I ask her to add a verse!!!??? How would she take that? I mean no harm, but I need one more verse to make it happen. Does she care if it's a song? Maybe that's an insult? Ya just never know about folks. But I figured I lived far enough away that id she was insulted, all she could reasonably do was call me names.
So I ask. And instantly, without hesitation, she sends me back the last verse. It's perfect! I can't believe it. How did she do that?

So now I have committed to writing a melody. Great! How the heck am I gonna come up with the melody? But I just know it's a song. Suddenly the door opens to the shop, and in walks my guitar repair guy holding the guitar. And he has a sparkle in his eye.
He tells me that I was right, and that my gamble paid off. It has a voice and it is a good one. Strong straight neck, and a sound chamber seasoned by 48 years out on the high lonesome plains of Wyoming.

So...I sit...all day Friday searching for the melody. Here in the shop. Constantly interrupted, and trying to get used to a very different guitar than the one I use. The more I played it, the better it got. But no luck with the melody.

So , I took it home with me. And took it downstairs to my cave, where everything is kinda well...comfortable. And as I was taking my old new friend out of the case I had found for it, suddenly the guitar started getting warm feeling. And I could hear it, even before I was playing it......

And it poured out of the guitar like there was a tape recorder in it. I had nothing to do with it. From the first strum inside my home.....

Here I revitalize this old axe, gave it new life after 40 some years of abuse, and the very first thing it does, is deliver a tune, one that must have been stuck inside for a long time....and somehow, it fit right around the words written so far away, from the beautiful soul in the UK.

There is more to all this than we know, I am sure. I am sure I am in way over my head. I can't even pretend to understand.
Music, love, distance, age, condition, timing....all...just know no boundaries when something is supposed to happen.

Continued in the comments.....

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Blogs by Tunes4u: Or That's How It Seems The Big 100!! What a Milestone! I Close My Eyes, And Enter My Dreams Goin' Out To Da Country, Baby Ya Want a Go? Just Another Wyoming Sunset Short Conversations Giving it Back Banjos in the Rain..no....Snow...Part Two....sortta The Rain Banging on De Drum All Day We Interupt Your Blogging Daydream for this Important Word From Your Planet Fer Cryin' Out Loud! On Being Committed..... Just Ain't Done Yet My Name is Tunes & I'll Be Your Server Tonight...... Staying Tuned Looks Like a Cola, But it's Snot. It's Finally Done! Alright! Ya Been Gone Quite Long Enough! Chasin' Wome....Opps....I mean..It's Friday! Rodan? Godzilla? King Kong? Mothra? Otis? Brutis? Popeye? As The World Turns New Addition to My Family A Quiet Passing of the Torch I Got Questions