Pablosguitar

My maternal grandmother, Gertrude Emma Frisch.  I hardly knew her, she died of a stroke when I was four years old.  She was making a cake for my brother's birthday and fell over in our kitchen. My brother and sister and I were in the room over the kitchen and heard her fall.  The floor had a crack in it and we looked through that and could see her lying on the floor. She came to live with us for her last year of life.  We made a small half bath in the "backroom", a large porch on the back of our house in Plainfield NJ.  My mother didn't talk too much about her or maybe she did to my brother and sister, or I was just too young to know what they were talking about.  I do know she was from England, married an Austrian who was a commercial artist who had a studio in New York. I don't know how they met, or where, but they were both "artists.  He the painter, she the pianist. The only time I remember her playing the piano was when she came to live wit...

My sister Harriet, passed away in May 2017.  A few months later we had a memorial for her in Brandon Vermont, a town our grandparents retired to and had a small farm where we all spent our summers.  My brother Bill called me before the event to let me know he wrote a song in her memory and would I accompany him on a guitar.  The words were to the music of Wildwood Rose.  I said sure, even though I had not played my guitar in years.  In fact, I didn't even have my guitar with me.  Michelle and I are living part of the year in Rhode Island, 3000 miles from our other home in Watsonville CA where my guitar was safely resting in a closet, untouched and unplayed for many many years. My brother-in-law, Cameron had a couple of guitars lying around his place, so I asked if I could borrow one to practice some before Harriet's memorial.  After a couple of weeks of reacquainting my fingers to steel strings, I felt confident I could play well enough to back ...