Me & My Guitar

So yesterday Joe, my musician friend downstairs, and I, run into each other as I am leaving and he's getting ready for some jazz gig. He says he hasn't seen me or heard me in a long time...and what about my bike? Would I please ride it, dammit?

OK. OK. I've been hibernating a little, so? I say. I told him I haven't played my guitar (with requisite singing) in a long time. I am not exactly sure why, but I know I feel like I don't want my other neighbors to hear me. Why? I guess because I don't like them so much, and I feel I don't want to share that part of me with them, albeit, inadvertently.

I live in a big old house that was divided into 5 apartments. I've been here forever. Joe's been here awhile now too. The other two (the 3rd floor isn't rented anymore--probably because of me complaining endlessly about the loud-stomping fools that used to occupy the place), well, I just don't like them. It's as if they think they live here alone--you know what I mean.

But before, I liked all my neighbors, and I used to sing all the time. I sometimes wondered if my singing and guitar and clarinet bugged people, but when I asked the landlord about it, he said that no one ever complained.

Well, three things I want to mention:

I was lamenting on my other blog about not being able to sing and play guitar (I do sing in the car, where I think no one can hear me, though sometimes at a red light I will get some very weird looks! lol) and today Wayne commented that he has heard my voice and that I should sing again because so many people would give anything to have my voice. (***tears welling***) He's so good to me. Always knows the exact right thing to say. It's quite amazing, really.

Joe asked me last night to come and sing an old jazz standard (my absolute favorite thing to sing, following acappella hymns) with him and his band. He said You know this invitation isn't open to just anybody. He's a sweetie too. Once, a few summers ago, I was playing my clarinet and he must have been in the backyard. The next time he saw me he mentioned that he'd heard me, and just kept saying "You're really good. I mean it. Really." Yes, I suppose I can still play. It's amazing after all these years--though my "chops" need practice even if my fingers don't. I always end up with a red welt under my lower lip when I haven't played in awhile. Anyway, I didn't go sing last night. That old "Barbara Streisand" phobia, which I must overcome. Really. (Forgetting the words really really sucks!)

And last, these things remind me of my friend David, who used to live in Joe's apartment downstairs. He was quite a nice, mild-mannered guy, and even if my music bothered him, I doubted he'd ever tell me. One year, on Christmas Eve, I came home to find a little Christmas card from him on the table in the hall. I got upstairs and opened it. This is what it said inside:
Thank you for filling the hours with beautiful song. I wept when I read those words (welling again now). It was one of the most sincere and lovely compliments I think anyone's ever given me. When I saw him next, I thanked him, and as if his original compliment wasn't enough, he said this: You know sometimes I even open my door and stand in the hall, so I can hear you better.

We have such power to be a light for other people, don't we? These things remind me of that...

So today I sang and played my guitar again. I cut down all my fingernails, tuned it by ear, and winced as my barely-there anymore callouses on my left-hand felt a familiar pressure. I remembered my songs, most of them anyway, and gradually my voice loosened. Some of the problem is I haven't completely regained my faith in my voice since losing it 100% (not even able to utter a sound---no squeak, nothing) over a year ago (this was due to chronic bronchitis---NOT because I don't know how to support my voice--I do), but some of it is just lack of real use.

My fingers are sore now, but I feel like myself again. Like something I'd forgotten has been found.