Any number of guitars can come of having college aged kids come home for dinner – and yes, I know they aren’t my kids and they know this isn’t really home, but there is dinner involved, and it all feels like family. But with a beverage or two and a full belly, guitars happen. So I have to warn you, I’m loaded for the rest of the week – I do not need to find another guitar until Saturday – last night was that productive. I am likely to find them anyway, but for the moment, it is unlikely that I will find anymore within easy reach in the kitchen, unless it is new food. But let me start with the one we had to actually take out of the cupboard.
For a very long time now, I have saved curious stamps when I came across them. I honestly don’t know why. I’m guessing that someone I admired once as a child was a serious collector who may have spent some time sharing their collection with me. All that remains of that memory is a vague unease when a foreign stamp comes in that prompts me to tear the corner from the envelope and put the stamp in a can. Which beats saving the entire envelope as I once did. I’m cutting down. Still, I understand, looking at them as the kids were trying to find a guitar among them, their fascination. The art on many of them is beautiful, and the photos of honorees and of destinations give a different kind of insight to these other places.