No strings on me

My cast came off a week ago, and now I’m gimping around the house and scaring the kids with the nine-inch scar on my ankle. Sometimes I even go without crutches for short stretches; Nancy says I look like a big toddler seeking the next solid surface to grasp.

My buddy John Stees sent me a groovy get-well present — a little solid-body guitar I’d entrusted to his care back when I left San Diego 20 years ago this month. He also sent ahead an e-mail explaining its pedigree to my kids:

“[T]his was your father’s old guitar that he gave to me when he moved to San
Francisco in 1988, (sic) armed with Beatle boots and McCartney old hollow body.

“It was used in The Three Johns of San Marcos storage-unit fame, making its way
to San Francisco, [where it] had a brief stint in Husky, a duo renowned in the living-room-talent-show circuit.

“Then in pursuit of true love, said Guitar went to Athens, GA, the OZ of independent music. Though not played there, the exposure to ceative energy furthers the magic of this potential Excalibur.

“Now that you are old enough to unleash its destiny, I return it to it’s family.

“I wish you fun and fulfilment.

“John Stees”

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