Dear Guitars,

I love you so utterly deeply that it's almost embarrassing. Last night, listening to one of your brethren in the expert hands of my string-strumming friend, I was transported.

Life, for a short time, seemed incomprehensibly good.

As Shakespeare once wrote, how is it that sheep's guts can hail the souls from men's bodies? And while I know that my friend's guitar is strung with steel, the sentiment is the same. He plucked, and he strummed, and he played his fingers across the frets, and I was truly happy.

You are a gift straight from God, and I am so thankful for friends who can play you well.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Friends,

Five bridesmaid dresses in my closet and approximately thirty-five wedding programs in my scrapbook suggest that, now that you're all married off, if you ever want to see me at a wedding again, you'd better start helping me find a guy.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Stephen Stills,

I never realized how much I talk to you (calling you "Steve," of course, since we're totally BFF) when I listen to your music until I lived upstairs from a landlord named Steve. Awkward.

Hugs & kisses (to you, not the landlord),
B