Like Making Love to a Beautiful, Sweet Woman

The night before the show. We've been working so hard; it's kind of a big deal. During the time I spend alone the night before, I focus on various things. I make checklist to make sure I don't forget picks or straps or clothing or tea or honey. Then I get to string my guitar. For a lot of other players,  the stringing process is a mere chore, an annoyance endured once every few weeks. For me, in the quiet semi-darkness of my room and my guitar there reflecting those bits of light beams from a single lamp, for me, it's a sacred act that I treasure. Like making love to a beautiful sweet woman, I remove the old strings and polish the golden wood and the neck and watch it there, gorgeous. When the job is complete and every string perfectly wound, I place the polished piece of gold back in its case and watch it there. It reminds me of times I used to watch Stephanie sleep and chuckle gladly at all the strange noises and movements she made in that deep dream sleep. My guitar is my woman now and she is silent but beautiful when I have completed. She's lean and ready for the half pageant half war of rock and sweat and beer she will wade into tomorrow and go back in the case and come out again to be loved once again.