This Blog's for Bridge

I heart Ukeleles.

They are wonderful because not only are the cute and conjure up images of white pants, smiley eyes, and palm trees, they also provide a much-needed plinkety plink plink sound to any song. Don't believe me? Until you've listened to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" with the ukelele playing softly in the background, you ain't a-listened to good music.

Can you think of a better way to spend a late Thursday night than to sit in a circle of musicians, with a sleepy dog in the middle under the coffee table, swaying to the acoustic, gentle strumming of guitars and ukeleles? And if you're lucky, AF will sing his Christy McNichol song. And if you're really lucky, these musicians will take requests and play "River Deep, Mountain High" while you sing your warmed heart out.

The ukelele is for the guitarist who writes haiku in the sand. It's for people who dig the sun, the trees, the way the light bounces off the water. For those who wear leather-thonged sandals, eat foccacia bread dipped in oil, and drink Sunshine beer.

The ukelele is the thinking man's stringed instrument. It's subtle. It's easily hidden. It's certainly not showy and never salutes itself. The ukelele is without fanfare, yet without it, you feel longing tug at your amazed heart. Without it, a little wistful.

Quiet. Contemplative. Lovely.