Monday, May 26, 2014

Classical

     So, it's been over a year since I posted, or worked on a guitar.  I guess I needed a break.  I have taken on a new project, to build a classical guitar for my friend Michael.  I found a great resource in a book by John Bogdanovich.  He happens to live in Asheville and I was able to meet him last week.  I have been working on the Templates and molds for the last month.  I have made the Plantilla, which looks like half of the top of a guitar, the transparent template, the side mold, the lining mold, and the Solera.  As I use these to make the guitar, I'll explain what they are and how to use them.  Here are some pictures of my work so far.  The Solera, I just finished today.  It will be the holding cradle for the guitar as I build it.
     I've also decided to post the story I've been writing for my grand kids.  I'll post a chapter a week, or so, for those who are interested.  The illustrations were done by my daughter Martha.
     And last, but not least, here is a Rumi poem I'll leave you with.

Don't avoid discipline.
You have learned ways to make a living
for your body.  Now learn to support
your soul.  You where fine clothing.
How do you dress your spirit?

This world is a playground
where children pretend to have shops.

Sometimes when they wrestle,
it may look like sex,
but none of it is real.

They exchange imaginary money.
Night comes, and they go home tired.


The Fantastic Adventures of Polly and Mr. Popper

Chapter 1
The Messenger

    There was a knock on the door.  As Polly opened it, she saw the worn and haggard look on the messenger’s face.  It was early Sunday morning and he looked as though he had been up all night.  
     “Good morning Polly.  Your presence and that of Mr. Popper’s is expected at an emergence meeting of the tribe.”  he said with  grave conviction.
     This looks serious, she thought.  “Is everything quite alright?”
    “ I can’t say.  All the facts will be presented at the meeting, which will begin in half an hour.  Please try to be punctual.  There is much to discuss and everyone will be there.”  he said as he turned and hurriedly walked away.
     Now, Polly was worried.  Worrying was one of her specialties.  She made a nice bit of extra income with it.  She learned early on that she was a worrier, so she turned her worrying into a part time job.  People would come to her house with a worry.  It could be about most anything.  Maybe a test they were going to take, or a new job, or a family matter.  Polly would take the request and worry for the person, which would free up the person to do their best on the test, or the job, or whatever.  She was very good at it, and  one of the few who could do it with all her might.  She usually worried from 8:00 am to 10:30 am.  Mr. Popper knew to stay away from her until she was done.  Anyway, I say all that, to say that when she worried for herself, it was a big deal.
     She headed off to tell Mr. Popper about the emergency meeting, with a look of urgency in her eyes.
     Now there are many things you should know about Polly.  I will mention a few now and then later as the story progresses, I will fill you in on the rest.  First of all, are Polly’s eyes.  Her eyes are of the most glorious shade of blue.  Not the blue of movie stars, or the ocean, or even the sky.  No, her’s is the blue of heaven.  When you first see them, it takes your breath away.  It’s as if you are looking into eternity.  A cosmic mystery looking back at you.  This was the first thing that Mr. Popper loved about Polly.  The second thing is Polly’s hair.  It grows wild like a child raised by beasts who has never slept in a bed, or eaten food with a knife and fork.  It curls up and around like a vine growing among the branches of a tree looking for the sunlight.  When she was young it had a beautiful reddish tint to it, like the color of polished mahogany.  Deep and dark with streaks of sunlight, from a morning past, rushing through it.  She cuts it everyday, now, and it  grows back like kudzu every night.  Now it is mostly gray.  A sign of honor among the Savages.  This was the second thing that Mr.Popper loved about Polly.
    “Mr. Popper!  They have called an emergency meeting in half an hour. “  she said, as she opened the door to the den and saw Mr. Popper sitting in his chair playing his oneironautic, ten string, woodwind instrument.  He had named it his dreamerado.  It was an instrument that Mr. Popper had dreamed one night and had decided to keep it, he liked it so much.  And being a dream, it didn’t need a case, or ever have to have it’s strings changed.   He would simply take it out of his imagination when he wanted it and put it away when he didn’t.  It was a strange instrument. It was stringed and he played it with his fingers, but he would blow into it to make it sing.  It had a sound like a rushing stream on a snowy winter evening.  Quiet, but very present.  You could almost feel the sound.  Several people said they could taste the sound.  It had varying flavors from cumin and turmeric spices, to a dark porter ice cream, depending on who you asked.
     Now there are also several things you should know about Mr.Popper.  I will mention a few now and fill you in on the rest later.  You will already have noticed that Mr. Popper is a musician.  He is not the best, or most skilled, but when he plays you can see deep into his soul and hear the picture of what he feels.  What I mean by that, is simply, that when he plays the air changes, the earth shifts and the magic begins.  It could be a beautiful summer evening, but if his soul is cold and lonely, as he plays, it becomes winter.  The sun will fade and the snow will begin to fall and you will find yourself weeping.  Then when he has finished it will be a bright summer’s day again.  Oh, the tribe liked it most when Mr. Popper played joyous music in sad times.  He could play fairies and foxes, flying horses and fire breathing ferrets.  It was such great fun and everyone would forget their troubles for a while.  Sometimes he would even play flying songs, so the whole tribe would sail into the sky and play among the clouds.
     As far as the way Mr. Popper looked, he was born with Elvis hair.  It was thick and straight and had a mind of its’ own.  Now that he was getting old it began to look out of place on him, but he didn’t seem to notice.  The combination of his hair, and Polly’s hair, which had been inherited by their children, was quite striking.  Their first born, Jessewheatzer, had hair that stood straight up like a dandelion.  Their middle child, Marthanubs, had a mane instead of actual hair.  Many people mistook her for some kind of a large feline of the lioness variety.  And their youngest child, The Boog, had a full beard when he was only Six.  But, probably the thing you would notice the most when you first meet Mr. Popper, is his voice.  It is deep and resonate, but yet quiet and quite disarming.  It has a calming effect on most people and has been known to lull people to sleep, much to his dismay.
     “I don’t understand it.  I haven’t been able to get a single note out of my instrument.  I’ve been playing and blowing until my face is red and still no sound.”  he said with much consternation.
     “Never mind about that now.  We must get ready to go.  What do you think this is all about?”  Polly said with a tone of ill ease.
    “I shouldn’t worry about it.  It’s probably some bureaucratic nonsense that the tribe has decided needs a vote.  I should stay here and blow on this dreameradoo if I didn’t think they would come and get me anyway.”  he said disinterestedly.
     “I don’t know.  This seems different.  The messenger looked very disturbed and wouldn’t offer any information.  I think we should take this seriously Mr. Popper.”
     “Perhaps you’re right, Polly.  It could be some kind of trouble that would require our input.  I shall put away this dreameradoo and get dressed.  I can’t seem to get a sound out of it today anyway.”