Redheads, Corvettes and Gibson Guitars

8 08 2011

Some things in life defy explanation.  Of course, there is an explanation for everything but by ferreting it out, the magic is lost.  The spectral evolution of a sunrise or the Midwestern aroma of freshly-plowed ground in the spring are meant to be experienced and savored, not explained.

For me, red-headed women, Corvettes and Gibson Guitars are as alluring and captivating as any sensual experience I have had with nature.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that it is even possible and definitely not wise to compare the works of Mother Nature to anything even remotely associated with the human experience.  But still, there is beauty and appeal in the human form and in the form of human design.  I know that the human form evolves from nature and I suspect that much of the pleasing lines of a sports car and a well-made guitar are dictated and/or inspired by nature.

I am in awe when I look at, in an non-leering manner, a red-headed woman with alabaster skin, freckles and green eyes.  I was lucky enough to fall in love with just such a creature and she with me; we have been together for over 30 years.  Still, after all these years, I will just stare at her while she sleeps or while she works in the garden.  She is truly a creature of beauty.

A Corvette has always been part of the psyche of most young men who grew up listening to the music of The Beach Boys and Jan and Dean.  Some of us have had the privilege of driving one of these American automotive wet dreams and still fewer of us have been in that stratified group to actually own one—if it is possible to own something of such beauty.  I have often said that you never see a Corvette street race.  Think about it and the reason is obvious.

I worked all summer back in high school to save enough money to buy my one and only Gibson guitar.  Like the redhead I married, this guitar was way out of my league but I had to have it.  For guitar eficionadoes, you will understand the lust that still exists in my heart for my 1966 Jumbo J45 with Cherry Sunburst Finish—Big Red as I call her.  I have hocked her many times to pay a utility bill or buy groceries but never thought of selling her.  It will be my son’s guitar when I am gone.

The point is that some things in life transcend mere physical beauty and take on an etherial status not to be questioned.  For me, I just enjoy and hang onto my child-like wonder of redheads, corvettes and Gibson guitars.





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