There are now three guitars in the house. On the wall is obviously my heirloom, but the classical acoustic is another heirloom. Although this one is much younger as my mother got in the early seventies before she moved to Finland from the States. The story of how she got it involves people from a poor black community pitching in to give a farewell gift to a young white social worker.
Of course, the third headstock then features the main racket-maker of the house, an electric shredding machine. Even if its player can’t shred.