The new mistress

In August I was gone for two weeks, and at John's request I left behind a list of stuff to do. It went like this: refill hummingbird feeder, check water softener, pay car insurance, water houseplants, fix rotten deck boards, buy a pony. One of these was "just a joke," and it wasn't the thing about the house plants or the rotten boards.

When I returned I found that he had, almost but not quite, bought something that began with a "p."

But it was not a pony.

No.

John has always been, at least since I have known him, a very good guitar player. Before that he was a good trumpet player. In the past ten years he has become a very good jazz guitar player. When I see him handle all musical instruments, it is with great love and tenderness. He has explained that the sinuous form of the guitar is female; with its graceful curves, it really is. His love for his instruments is deep and sensual, and his passion for music is serious.



Sleep-deprived as I was when I arrived back home after my two weeks, how could I argue against this new, beautiful thing that had miraculously presented itself at a bargain price in my absence?

Well I couldn't, could I?

So now there is a new mistress in the household, deep and mysterious.

She demands attention while the guitars look on quietly from across the room.

I am getting used to her. She is lovely.

Although John spends long hours with her I know it's OK.

I am still, however, concerned about the rotten deck boards.