Egad, it’s more addictive than heroin. My family always had a penchant for what some might refer to as “junk,” but what they would refer to lovingly as “antiques.” So I spent a fair amount of my childhood in flea markets, wandering through rows and rows of junk, err... “collectibles” rather.

After a while it seems to grow on you. Ebay is kind of like a huge flea market that you can meander through from the comfort of your own little cave, and I’ve been hooked for years. I swear, every single day I find a funky little guitar on the site that’s absolutely the “best deal EVER!” and I’ve got to have it. Of course by the next day, I’ve forgotten about it and found another that’s even better. I should probably seek some help.


OK, no, I’m not getting all mushy — and I’m terribly afraid of actually having any of my own — but there’s this group of kids that comes by the store on a regular basis (a few of which are my guitar students) that are by far the coolest kids I’ve ever known. Not “cool” in the negative MTV sense, but “cool” in the sense that you can tell they’ll be truly interesting people when they’re older. Heck, they’re interesting people NOW and consistently keep me laughing and on my toes. I won’t name any names (in an effort not to embarrass anybody) but Mike, Channing, Jackson, Pippi, Taylor, Zeb and Ryan, you know who you are.


For the last two years, we’ve had a little nest of birds living in the corner of the awning over our front door. Technically, it’s probably been several different families of birds, but it’s rare to get so close to see the whole life cycle go by. The latest batch of four just flew the coop — literally, I guess. There’s this tree (don’t know what kind) at the top of the driveway that explodes with thousands of little pink flowers about this time each year. I got my first whiff of honeysuckle the other day, already scored one heck of a sunburn over the Easter holiday, and though I’m more of a Guinness guy, I’ve had a strange urge for a Corona lately. All this must indicate that summer is rushing our way, and I’m darn ready for it.

— By Chris Cooper, who can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

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