For my 40th birthday, my dad gave me his Triplett 34-string Celtic harp.  I have envied this beautiful instrument from the first time that he brought it home. At the time, I was also a little resentful that I had spent years learning the highland bagpipe and it seemed as if he had saved the most beautiful instrument for himself! (Besides, the harp was the instrument of heaven and the bagpipe was the instrument of hell, at least according to Gary Larson in a Farside comic from years ago.)

Standing there looking down on this instrument in its blue case, I could hardly believe it: he was handing over the keys to his harp to me! At his urging, I picked it up in its nylon and sheep's fleece case to carry it out to my car, but the instrument was so awkward that I faltered. But, he wanted me to carry down the hill and out to my car. I felt as though I had bunjee cords around my ankles. He couldn't be serious!

When I got home, I carefully brought it inside and took it out of its case. I just let it rest for a few days to get acclimated to its new home and occassionally strummed on its strings which were terribly out of tune. After I started trying to tune it, I broke several strings within a very short period of time. Suddenly, it seemed as though I had this magnificient instrument with almost infinite potential just laying musically dormant with its broken strings. I saw a connection between this beautiful harp that my dad had given me, and the body and life that my parents had given me some 40 years ago. What potential within my body was laying dormant before being fully effected by a change of strings and a tune-up?