Picked Up My Guitar and Played In my meeting with the good pastor, I mentioned my long-dormant music skills.  He strongly encouraged me to re-hone them.  Luckily, my Aspen six survived the Worst Move Ever in one piece, and it was even readily accessible in the garage. I can't remember the last time I opened that case.  Lots of dust on the neck, and those strings must be at least ten years old.  They tuned well enough, though, and the neckstrap felt like the arm of an old friend across my shoulders.  "How are you, old friend?", it seemed to ask as I strummed my usual C F C greeting."You really wanna know?"A Minor.The muscle memory was gone from my fingers, but they worked well enough to set the mood while I moaned out the opening lyrics of the Stones' Angie.  Looking for something a little darker, Del Shannon, of all things, came to mind.   Ol' Del knew how to rock an A Minor!  I brought my voice up a bit, not quite full yet:  ...and as I still walk on I think of the things we done together while our hearts were young...My voice hitched a bit.  Well, I really wasn't in the mood to sing, "wah-wah-wah wonder" anyway.  I ran through the chords and let Del sing in my head.  With that, I was ready to hit the hard stuff:AmCDEF....took a few tries, and my left hand was protesting the moves it hadn't been asked to perform for over ten years, but it finally turned into the righteous cautionary tale that is House of the Rising Sun.  I played it loud, and my voice was proud:...My mother was a tailorSewed my new blue jeansMy father was a gambling manDown in New Orleans...Even on that first night, I could feel the callouses coming back to my finger tips.  They seemed like old friends, too.  That was the catharsis I needed.  Or so I thought.My C F C strumming between takes was beginning to sound familiar.  Suddenly it spilled out of the Aspen like a confession, an old Simon and Garfunkle number:...A Winter's dayIn a deep and dark December... When I was an alienated youth, this was my anthem.  This was my middle finger to the world.  Singing the lyrics at the ripe old age of 47, they were now just scornful and mocking:...Don't talk of loveWell I've heard the word beforeIt's sleeping in my memoryI won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have diedIf I never loved I never would have criedI am a rockI am an islandAnd a rock feels no painand an islandnever cries....Damn.GDAD