OF LOVE AND A FAKE LEATHER GUITAR STRAP



        OF LOVE AND A FAKE LEATHER GUITAR STRAP

We did not have a dime to spare and sometimes not even a dime.  My husband and I with our two children, now twelve and ten, were living on a small native reserve in Manitoba in a house in a lumber yard, the only housing available.  Our term of service with a Christian organization establishing a market garden on the reserve was over.  Yet we were still on the reserve with no source of income. Even when our basic needs had been provided for by the organization, we had not been living too high off the hog.
          “Happy Birthday, to you,
           Happy Birthday to you,
           Happy Birthday, dear Mom,
           Happy Birthday to you!”
A cake, decorated in my favourite colour pink, ice cream, Rien and the kids crowding around me as I opened my gift, what could be dearer? 
“What do you want for your birthday?” they had asked me.   Rien and I were still deeply involved with the little Gospel church on the reserve and going to a rescue mission in Winnipeg to lead services and hand out food.  I played my guitar in both settings.  What I needed was a guitar strap, since I had to stand when playing.  I knew we could not afford much, so that is all I asked for.
With what eagerness they all watched my face to see if I liked my gift, so carefully selected just for me.  I could imagine them going all the way into the city to the music store and looking at all the different styles and colours and agreeing on the one I would like best.
What beautiful embroidery!  What a rainbow of colours with red predominating!  No, it was not an expensive leather one – Rien would have kept the gift affordable.  It was only on a plastic backing.  Leather lasts better, you say?  Funny how I have used that strap, tied on with blue yarn, over all these years and it has never cracked. 
Now I can afford to buy a genuine leather strap, perhaps with personal insignia burned on, as fancy as pride will allow, but I can never seem to do it.  Every time I pick up my guitar, I see my children again, and my late husband, and I feel warmed by the priceless gift of their love.
         
         


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