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How can I describe myself musically?

I will never be accused of selling my soul at the crossroads.

I played dulcimer in church and trumpet in school band. I wanted to play violin at church and flute in the band, but as you may have guessed; my parents hated me. Want to get your kid beat up at school and church? A dulcimer is the way to go.

My voice was not produced to make the sweet plaintive music of the raths and hills, to float like slow smoke over the ruins of forts and lodges and grass hay fields to sweeten the very sky. My bardic ancestors bequeathed me little in that way.

I can play Yellow Submarine on a ukulele, along with a handful of blues riffs– and much to the horror of my immediate family I am willing to do so, if given occasion or excuse, in public. Although I’ve failed to master Chuck Berry’s harmonized slide technique on any other instrument, it sounds great on the ukulele.

I think that I’m the only one of my circle who failed to learn the intro of “Stairway to Heaven” on the guitar when we were kids. I had a little acoustic guitar that I practiced on, but it was cheap and Oregon is humid and the neck bent so that I had to tune the stupid thing every two minutes. I cursed it then, but I am really good at tuning to this day, so at least it wasn’t a wasted effort.

My husband has purchased a guitar for me and I’m eagerly awaiting it’s arrival. I believe the Fed-Ex guy is a little scared of me, as I run out when the truck pulls up and ask “Is it here? It’s about this long and it’s from Massachusetts. Are you sure? Have you even looked in your truck?!”

A little obsessive? Me? Noo. Not me.

My very own Fender. On it’s way. To me.

My very own black Fender. Stratocaster.

My very own black Fender with a Hello Kitty pick guard.

In the words of the immortal Eric Cartman: “Super sweet”