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When I was in third grade, we moved to a new town. I hated it there. My father offered to teach me to play the guitar to make me feel better, but I was more interested in the thumb pick he gave me to use. It was a swirl of every color I loved, it was smooth and shiny and it fit my thumb perfectly. He gave up on the guitar lessons, but let me keep the pick. I carried it with me everywhere. It made me feel better to have something to hold on to. One cold, rainy day, we came in from recess, (yes, they still sent us outside in every kind of weather then) and I discovered that the pick was missing. It wasn't in my pocket or in my mitten or on the floor or under my desk. I searched the playground after school, but I knew I'd never find it. And I never did. I took a series of photos last October and played with them for awhile, but couldn't make it look the way I pictured it. Tonight, I went back to it and ended up with this one, and I felt like I'd found that long lost pick. (Fourth grade was much better than third.) :-) ♥
March 28th, 2011
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