(I've started and erased this post about ten times now. It's not going so hot. I'll try to get through it...)
Guitars are wonderful instruments. So mobile. So versatile. So peaceful (sometimes). Especially if they're in tune. I got to mess around with a friend on the guitar recently (mostly as the singer) and it was fun... even if the guitar was out of tune. I don't know if this person or their loved ones read this blog, but if you do, know that it is no slight to the guitar player when I say that about the out-of-tuneness of said guitar. Guitars pull out of tune when you raise them a whole step. The strings don't like it. They're tighter and they want to go back to were they are comfortable, a whole step lower. Playing them outside in the cold air doesn't help keep the strings tuned up pretty either. I know that and that's ok. Are we good? Good.
(The urge to erase this post is strong right now. I'm not going to. That might be a mistake, but I shall carry on, nonetheless.)
As I sat there jamming with the guitarist, we were both supremely frustrated. Neither of us knew the same songs as the other, save a precious few. We didn't speak the same language. He knew this and this and this song and thought surely I would too. "Nope," I'd say. "I know the tune, but not the words." Then I'd ask if he knew this or this or this song... "Nope," he'd say.
When I'm with my family, we all know the same songs. And if we don't, it's not too long before we learn it. We mostly like the same sort of music. It made me miss my brother, who's guitar skills and repertoire are deep. It made me miss my mother, my sisters, both my brothers, and my dad, who sing all the time and can break into harmony, complete with SATB, if we're all there. We speak the same language, you know? And there's magic in the language of a family.
(Mediocre post, at best, but I've been thinking about this little subject for a while now and I had to get it out, if crappily. My apologies.)