Thanks to Mom, I got my first guitar the year my family spent in Argentina while my microbiologist dad was on sabbatical from Cal Poly doing research on brucellosis in cattle there. (I've yet to find a musical association with the cow thing!) I took off on the guitar, courtesy of some private classical lessons from a very patient Argentine teacher, and also of the two young Mormons who showed up at our door and taught me "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" and other popular folk songs of that 60's era.
Later, armed with some basic chord progressions, a few short and sweet sonatas, and a love of singing and accompanying myself and others, I got to spend my junior year in Granada, Spain, and immerse myself musically in the land of Don Quixote. In retrospect, I realize my good fortune to have had that uncommonly care-free period. I would return home to finish college, marry the greatest guy in the world, raise a son and daughter who are the light of our lives, launch my music in various venues, and try out different careers---all feeding my spirit and heart enormously--- before I would get to see that part of the world again. Forty years. Growing up hearing these stories and dreaming of traveling more together, my daughter Genevieve proclaimed, "Mom, we could go on forever saying we're going to do this; let's book our tickets!"
|Genny with mug, and me|