Brotherhood of the Travelling Guitar

We've not taken any pictures of the kids this week, and there isn't any real news except the drama of buying a house. Or not buying it. The drama will be decided within the week. Will keep readers posted on whether said drama is a comedy or tragedy.

But there has been one development, at least for Dad. It goes like this . . . (and it is only being related because Dad needs a healthy distraction from the lecture he is sitting in at the moment. So indulge him.)

In 2002, Dad buys a Larrivee L-03, limited edition claro walnut-backed guitar, trusting only in internet pictures and a description of its sound, from Buffalo Bros. Guitars in California. They send it to Dad in Massachusetts. Dad hangs it on the wall, proud of its tonal and visual aesthetic.

However, said guitar gets small hairline cracks in the winter, along the back. This is because humidity inside that house in the winter was roughly 10%. A lot of our furniture cracked too. Nonetheless, the first cracks were indicia of things to come.

Fast forward 5 years. Having moved to Georgia, where relative humidity seldom falls below 130%, the guitar heals itself, with nary a crack to be seen.

Then, confidant in the structural soundness of the guitar and in the general goodness of humanity, Dad loans guitar to friend to play at a party in September. Friend gets drunk. Guitar gets cracked but now on the front. Friend can't remember exactly how this happened. Friend returns guitar. Dad smiles, though on the inside his hopes for humanity are dashed.

In order to prevent the crack from worsening, Dad takes guitar to local guitar guru. Guru fixes front crack through regimen of humidification and gluing. Dad goes to pick up guitar. Crack is fixed, now barely noticeable on the front. But as he goes to put guitar in the case, he feels a bump. A terrible, obvious bump - on the back. Lo and behold, the humidification process has fixed the front at the expense of the back. A warp the size of a donut is in the center of back of the guitar. The pressure from the warp causes the back to come apart at the butterfly joint, right in the center. You could have put a dime in it. But said guitar is not a piggy bank.

Guitar guru flips out. He's never done this before. Dad believes him. Truly. Still, Guru pours forth with genuflections and penitence and promises to remedy the debacle.

The following day, Guru ships the guitar to Larrivee. Whether this is to their Vancouver or California shop is uncertain.

Larrivee's uber-guru looks at guitar. "We've never seen this before," he says. After a few days of humidification and attempts at restoration, uber-guru declares "it's terminal. But we can replace the back." A few days later, he calls and says "we might as well replace the cracked top since we are taking the guitar apart. We can get it to you in 5 or 6 weeks, by the end of December." Dad contemplates this combination of the old and the new, says OK, and commences practicing only his banjo, waiting for the return of the Robocop of the guitar world.

Guru calls uber-guru in late December to see if it is almost ready. Uber-guru admits that said guitar has been forgotten about. Promises to ship in February, and as a concession, throws in the new top, gratis.

Sunday, February 17, Dad gets call from Guru. The guitar is back in Athens. Dad picks it up.



Now it is heavier. The grain is vertical, whereas the old grain was horizontal. And it smells like Canadians. But it sounds pretty good.

What have we learned? I don't know. Maybe I should have bought a Martin.