Tuesday, July 17, 2012
I sent my Grandpa's banjo back to Arizona when I was in Michigan in May. Grandpa F. died in April 1972. He was 67, he died too young, but he had a small heart attack and didn't tell anyone and the second one killed him. Too many cigarettes and too much meat, potatoes, and gravy. Grandma used to say, "If I had known it was bad for him, I wouldn't have made it for supper." But the Home Economics classes back in the late 1920s were probably filled with lots of bad advice (just like Sex Education classes that focus on "Abstinence Only" are killing lots of kids today).
Grandpa.
I assumed it was going to take a lot of work to fix the banjo, which had not been played in 40 years. But all it needed was a $5 bridge and a $5 set of strings. Evan bought me a tuner and finger picks and it was all set to go. I've been going through a little book, teaching myself things. Every few days something connects in my brain and I think, "Oh, that's easy!" Of course, knowing how to play 'Skip to my Lou" is not a major achievement. But I am taking baby steps.
Banjo!
Grandpa.
I assumed it was going to take a lot of work to fix the banjo, which had not been played in 40 years. But all it needed was a $5 bridge and a $5 set of strings. Evan bought me a tuner and finger picks and it was all set to go. I've been going through a little book, teaching myself things. Every few days something connects in my brain and I think, "Oh, that's easy!" Of course, knowing how to play 'Skip to my Lou" is not a major achievement. But I am taking baby steps.
