Guitar Safari

Let’s go back. January 17, 1994, at 4:31 AM Pacific Standard Time.  Many of us  probably woke up to the the vibrating Earth.  I had the first incarnation of my Guitar Shop on 6th Street.  The first thing I did was check on my daughter to see if she was okay.  The next was to check on my shop.  I imagined Earthquake Damage like had never been seen.  Broken guitars scattered across the floor.  I checked in and the first thing I saw was a woman, a wonderful person, wearing a WWII Civil Defense Helmet with flashlight in hand, its flame  strangely barking into the emptiness of the street. It was my Dear Friend Wendy. “What are you doing?” I asked.  She bravely told me, “I’m making sure that there aren’t any shenanigans”.  She was protecting my shop.  Everyone’s shops.  From anything possible.  It was fucking 5am.  She was there for the world.  I’ve seen her nearly every day since.  Walking The Beat.  I just got a phone call that she’s died…my emotion is strong yet shattered.  She used to see me at The Salvation Army Store and buy me things under the guise of being my Grandmother at Senior Discounts, but only by her insistence.  This was one brilliant, gallant, charming Being.  I’m deeply saddened and I don’t even know how to finish this properly, but I’ll give it a shot…Wendy Gal…you  drilled a hole in my heart and plugged it right back up with beauty, dignity and a great big dash of grace.  I will miss you! I’m crying……………………………………………………………………………………….