Many of us have items we love to miss. These are things we feel we can't do without, but forget about once we have them for awhile. After the newness dulls, these things are put away and forgotten. Months later (perhaps years), a sporadic yearning will come upon us to take these items out of storage and put them to use.

Such was the case of the missing Stortz guitar. For years, that guitar was shuffled from house to house and from state to state. About two years ago, I felt the need to play. Without much thought, I went to the closet to dig out the instrument. It wasn't there. I searched every closet but found no guitar. I came to the conclusion that I didn't have it. Insistently, I searched my parent's house for the guitar but to no avail. I decided it was still at my oldest brother's house. Mom insistently told me that either I had it or that a friend had borrowed it and failed to return it. Deciding that it had fallen into the universal layer (the same place socks go after being put in the dryer) and never to be found, I forgot about my need to s t r um a few notes. Nevertheless, I wished all along I had the instrument. I hadn't seen it for over two years.

It wasn't until the weather turned cold last week that 1 was digging in the closet (one that measures 4 feet wide and 4 feet deep and as tall as the room) when I discovered that the lost was found. The black textured case looked just the same as I recalled. I wrapped my fingers around ilie handle and hoisted it into the open near the couch and set in on the floor. I loosened the latches, opened the case and lifted out the instrument. Everything was in tact. The old thing hadn't changed at all. I sat on the couch and set the guitar on my lap. Hesitantly, I strummed my thumb across the strings. The instrument was out of tune, but in some strange way it was a beautiful sound. I played that guitar for the rest of the
night, trying to remember the right finger positions for the various notes.

The blue punch tape with my name on it was as legible as ever on the case. Looking close, one could tell that the name tag had been placed over another. That old guitar (I have no idea what Mom paid for it in 1977) got its wear starling with my oldest brother when he was in the seventh grade. He enrolled in a two-year program at some school. Karl had the guitar to himself for one year until my next oldest brother, Jim showed an interest in strumming. Therefore, the brothers shared the guitar for one year. Scott had it for a year all to himself. Then it was passed on to me. Part of Family Tradition. I can't recall having much an interest in playing the guitar, but it almost seemed tradition that all the kids in the family would take guitar lessons. Maybe it was because the lessons came once a week during school hours and guitar class was more attractive than the alternative However, I can't recall what the alternative was. Perhaps it was because my brothers never spent time practicing and I wanted to prove a point that if I tried something I'd stick with it However, I can't recall practicing much myself or becoming very proficient.

Nevertheless, I took lessons for two years. From St. Louis to Nebraska, Back to St. Louis, To Marcelme... Waynesville... Chillicothe...but when I entered high school, the black case sat dormant. When my oldest brother started elementary teaching at a parochial school in Nebraska,
he though it would be a good idea to have the guitar at his disposal to use whenever he wanted. He kept it for a couple years, getting very limited use out of it. His ideas of playing for the students remained mostly in his mind Knowing this, I decided I could get more use out of the old guitar. So, at a family reunion, the guitar changed hands.

I've been practicing on-and-off ever since, trying out more guitar lessons (including online/downloadable lessons), and toying with the idea of starting a noobish band with some friends. And now I'm blogging about it. Hooray!