My wife had a small quilted bag that she used to carry her lunch to work every day. She dropped the bag in the driveway last week and a tempered glass bowl shattered into millions of shiny splinters. I suggested she throw away the bag because it was full of glass but she didn’t want to part with her trusty lunch bag. It seemed like a reasonable idea to attempt removing the specks of glass from the clingy fabric. When we gave up, the bag was still full of glass and also stained with blood. It was a tiny shard in my finger, no big deal. It didn’t bleed very long and I never gave it a second thought. On Saturday I played with my friends in Ride the Song. We were part of the entertainment for a “Wild Game Feast.” It was our second time playing this event. The people are fantastic and it was a lot of fun. I had forgotten about the tiny cut on my finger until the third song. I looked down and noticed the blood splatter on my guitar. I warned the people closest to the stage that they may be in the splash zone. Nothing is more “Rock and Roll” than playing folk music at a wild game feast with a blood-covered guitar.
