I regularly unpack that Goya guitar bought back in 1968, pin on my Certified Music Practitioner badge and head down some hallway to offer the ministry of music to critically and chronically ill, elderly and dying patients.
This day I enter the hallway at Mountain Valley Hospice House in Upstate New York.
My Yamaha and Martin steel stringed guitars remain home most of the time. The Goya's sweet tones complement the hushed, even holy atmosphere of the House. The glinty, outspoken sound of steel strings is too big for frail, often overwhelmed patients in small rooms.
Len is one such patient.
By the title of this new story I hope you will be as surprised as I was by what occurred with me and Len. Any ideas? Go ahead, use your imagination.