It wasn’t just life, though. It was long-time friend Ken. We met for breakfast this morning and talked for hours about flame plate in fighter jets, great teachers, the colored water of the old Nashua River, adaptive learning, and Massachusetts politics. It was the kind of conversation that Ken and I have had since we were in Little League, drops of water bouncing and scattering on a hot griddle.
It wasn’t just any banjo. It was Don’s 5-string.
Not a day goes by that we don’t miss him. Not a day goes by that, knowing that we could have done better, we don’t wonder if it would have been enough to make a difference.
First steps will be tune it, learn a few chords, and plunk out a blues progression.
It comes full circle. That was me, back when we were living in the garage, my grandmother looking on.
Sometimes, life hands you a banjo, again.