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You The older looked out the window. It was a great day to play.

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But which instrument?

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The banjo? The ukulele? The bassooky? It was a great day to play. But which instrument? The banjo? The ukulele?

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The bassooky? He turned and regarded the weather again, and then decided on his Spanish guitar. He carefully put it in the case, walked out the door, and headed for a quiet spot at the park.

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He loved playing for animals. They really listened, unlike so many people that smiled but never stopped. He deftly checked his tuning, but was distracted by noise. Something was pushing through the strangling brush at the edge of tall shady trees. He saw the old guitar first, held high, and then its holder, scraped and tattered. A younger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, arms and body scratched and bleeding. His gaze focused only on the older's acoustic guitar.

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The older held the priceless craftsmanship out to the younger and asked, Would you like to play it? All he could do was nod. His mouth hung open, his eyes disbelieving about to play something he'd never dreamed of and only seen in the windows of the local luthier. They traded guitars.

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Carefully, Younger held it and marveled at its lightness. Holding it like a chalice, he played all he knew as Older played Younger's guitar. It was magic, and Younger glowed with excitement as Older took the lead through key changes, different tempos, with chords Younger had never heard. No matter what Older played, Younger played something unexpected that worked and flowed. And when they finished, Older asked Younger if he'd like to

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learn more, and Younger's head nodded like a bobble doll. Meet me at the statue in the park begin your lessons. This is how it began. do do do do do do do do

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and and do do do do ♪ ♪

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♪ ♪ ♪ So... the the the the the

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the For three hard years, Boulder grilled Younger on all aspects of music.

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Then they moved through the stringed instruments, bazooki, oud, tambourine, ukulele, banjo, Mexican bass, and other stringed instruments the Younger never knew existed. Older had never seen anyone ravenously devour musical knowledge like Younger. But Older also spoke on life, love, desire, and many other things because Younger should know that music needs a good life to exist. Older taught confidence, how to act professionally, be on time, and stay open to whatever note was played. All these teachings revived Older's spirit. Going back to the basics

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with Younger reminded him how healing it was to share and enjoy life again.

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This is how it began. So... so Here we go. When Younger felt there was nothing more to know the song of the sea, or the birds in the trees, or the sound

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of the wind?" Younger was astounded. The thoughts that were inspired by Older's questions excited the Younger so much, he couldn't sit. He jumped up, pacing back and forth, tumbling the idea of hearing his world as a song, as music like a symphony with a beat, a key. It made his mind race.

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For the first time, Younger realized his knowledge merely scratched the surface of a much deeper world. He doubled his practice to keep up, and Older kept the brutal pace for another three years. And after ten thousand hours of lessons, and three times that in practicing alone, Older proclaimed Younger good enough to play with others and not pick up any bad habits.

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Younger never felt so grounded in his life. do do do do so ♪ When Younger began sitting in with other musicians who studied at music schools, he was invited

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to gig for money. Making money from playing took some getting used to. He'd never made money before. His first purchase was an old electric guitar. He was afraid to tell Older he was playing electric guitar because it was electric.

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But shortly after he'd gotten his amp, Older said following lessons would be in his studio. For six years he'd learned everything in the park or field trips. Younger never wondered if Older had a place to play at home. They were always at the park, outside.

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Older had guitars everywhere, hanging on walls, in stands, in the kitchen. Even the bathroom had musical instruments. One called the to-do-to-do was a toilet paper roll. Amps and pedal mods were strewn everywhere. There were stringed instruments he'd never seen in books

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or mentioned by older. It was a temple to the god of lutes. In one corner was a mixing station, with chords that ran everywhere. All the instruments of a good band were laid out, too. A drum kit, basses, keyboards, and guitars

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that Younger had only seen on films in the hands of famous players. It was heaven. Perfect. And suddenly, Younger felt sorry for all the people that didn't have what he had.

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Music. the the the the the the the the

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the the the the the the the the

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the the the the It was in Alder's studio where Younger learned the alchemy of song craft and story theory.

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They studied albums from the best and most famous musicians and poets in the world. Many of them, Older knew. His name appeared on album sleeves of some of the greatest music. They talked about Socrates' theory of poetry,

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being on the road, touring cities, countries, and continents. Older was a well-known hired gun for the biggest stars, touring cities, countries, and continents. Older was a well-known hired gun for the biggest stars, but one day he said, "'You must create content,' Older said sadly. "'You must write whole songs,

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"'or you will end up like this, old, living on pennies.'" Older's voice rang with regret. "'I never realized how good I was, "'and I don't want you to have any self-doubts. You are special. I want you to go further. Only months later, Younger began playing lead guitar for the most famous band in the world.

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Smiling, Older said flatly, don't be nervous. Breathe, hold, and exhale. Remember, focus on the moment. And then he said with a smile, you're not the first person to ever be in the spot. You can do this. And his teacher was right.

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He did. guitar plays softly ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ so ♪♪

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♪♪ ♪♪

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Years passed. So many, younger was no longer young. Replaced by youth just as older had been. The fate of time, amplifying his white hair and wrinkles, left him with very little. It happened slowly, just after he'd stopped touring. But then he stopped recording. And finally, Younger realized he hadn't written a song in years.

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He felt ready for his final lesson. It was time to visit his teacher, the older. The property was deserted, overgrown, unkempt. But sitting on the stoop was a young girl with a guitar that distinctly reminded him of his first guitar.

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She was running through chords. Her thin fingered hands danced a ballet across the fretboard as the other plucked strings like court jesters. She looked up at Younger, no longer young, and saw the guitar with a bright red bow. Her eyes sparkled with the desire to hold it, to caress it against her chest, to slide her palm along the neck. Does the older still lived here? He asked with a smile, but her countenance fell. He passed, she said sadly, but her eyes never wavered from the guitar in his hands. May I play it? she asked hungrily.

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He nodded, and they traded guitars. The younger's old soul danced as she played, so he played hers, and the sharing was magical. They became lost, smiling and laughing, playing for the length of a good first set, and then they basked in a melancholy silence that felt as satisfying as eating good bread. Why are you here? asked the older, and new younger replied, the older told me to keep practicing and wait here for you. That envelope in the box has your name on it. The thick envelope read, new older in single quotations, written in pencil with a jerky hand.

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New older smiled his eyes misty. Would you like to learn what he shared with me? And the new younger nodded like a bobble doll. And the new older said, meet me at the statue in the park tomorrow at 10. And we will begin your lessons." And Younger squealed with delight as she ran home.

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This is how it began. ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ so ♪ ♪

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♪ ♪

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♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪