I'm stringing four guitars tonight.
Well two six-strings and a twelve-string, same diff.
Plus I bought a ukelele for my sister,
who isn't on Facebook so DO NOT tell her what she's getting.
There's some fancy strings these days,
they pretty much never wear out
until they suddenly do
and then they sound awful.
I like the older kind, they may not be as unnaturally bright
and you have to change them more often,
but they sound like . . . like guitar strings that
old Doc Watson might have played
or shepherd boy David himself before he became a big shot.
This makes me think of Advent.
Probably because I'm writing an Advent thing every stinking day of Advent,
and everything just starts looking like Advent eventually.
Maybe that's the point.
String me Lord. NO, don't string me UP.
You know I'm sour more than some of the time,
but I've heard you like that open tuning,
and I'm wide open, raw, and ready to rip.
Use the old style strings, if it's all the same to you,
this ohsoshinybright stuff cloys.
The old things cure after a while--
they hurt, they heal, and, yes, they need more attention.
Play it like you mean it, Lord. Gentle is good enough.
Rave on when you want.
Make me your instrument, like brother Franky said.
Make this Advent a time of tuning, of turning,
of stretching just enough to make me true.
If any of this means anything,
Rock the casbah. If not,
It'll be a blue Christmas.
*originally posted December 19, 2012