Volume 14: Salvaging The Strat

A second chance for a creek-filled guitar, a chance encounter and the FIRST write-in reader question!

“I stand by all of my work, so if you’re unhappy with anything, please, please let me know.”

This wasn’t something one of the many workers said about the repair work they did on our home, it was the promise from Nore, the lone guitar tech at Sam Ash after I picked up my beloved American-made Fender Stratocaster, the one Liz bought me after I presented her with an engagement ring from Victor the Bear — and the one I subsequently thought I lost in the flood last year.

Despite the fact that I placed the guitar on top of our playroom sofa as the creek came rushing into our home, it still sustained some water damage — and a whole lotta mud in the guts.

“When I opened it up, there was all this mud in there,” Nore said. “What the hell happened to that thing?”

“Ida happened,” I said, and Nore nodded and smiled back at me like someone who doesn’t get the reference — but also doesn’t want you to know they don’t get it.

Salvaging the Strat was a major victory for me. In addition to the damage physical structure of our home, the flood came in and destroyed a lot of irreplaceable sentimental items — photos, artwork, important records and a handwritten family history penned by my great Aunt just before she died.

I likely never would’ve gotten the thing looked at, hanging on to the possibility that it probably still played even after the water damage and the mud. But Liz isn’t a wishful thinker like me; she’s a doer. So she bought me a new amp this past Father’s Day, and brought the guitar in to Nore for my birthday present.

It’s a good thing she did. Otherwise, my kids would’ve spent rest of their childhood free from this type of harassment:

Wheels On The Bus (Toddler Punk Version)

Delco Dreaming

My Old Apartment

After all we’ve been through in this home, it’s hard to think of living anywhere other than the Blue House. But before we moved into our spot at the end of Yerkes Rd., Liz and I spent six years living in my dad’s old townhouse, the one we moved into after he died. Before that, we spent the first four years of our domestic partnership living in an apartment in Delco. (Note: If you’re interested in learning more about the Delco phenomenon, check John McKeever & Tommy Poper’s brilliant web series, Delco Proper.)

A few weeks ago, I found myself in the Delco area and took the opportunity to walk past the old apartment and snap a few photos.

While I was creepily taking pictures of the house apartment I used to call home, a large man walked by and said, “Hey, what the hell are you doing?”

I thought about telling the man how I used to live in the apartment I was photographing and how I was feeling nostalgic for the past, a simpler time when my biggest worries centered around whether I’d spend my limited discretionary dollars at C.J.’s Wok or the Trophy Tavern and not on my own mortality (41 is a weird age), but then quickly thought better of it. Instead, I started mumbling something about “research for a newsletter I’m writing,” which turned into an hour-long conversation about Ida, my home, River People Rebuild and, of course, the Sixers. During the course of the conversation, I learned that this man had also had his home flooded. Long story short: I ended up staying in Delco way longer than I’d planned and wound up in rush-hour traffic as a result, but I gained a loyal new newsletter subscriber through a chance encounter.

Welcome to the RPR fam, Bob K (permission granted to use his name)!

The Very First Reader Question

Judith Weiland Bilski portrait by Molly Painter Schappel.

After a full year of asking readers to send in their questions, I finally got one. From Chad from New Jersey:

What did your dog do during the flood?
Great question! I’ll dedicate an entire post to this soon, but the short version is this: While the flood was trashing the first floor of our home, Judith Weiland sat stoically on our bed and occasionally gave us a look that could best be described as, “I love you guys, but when the hell are we getting out of here? It DOES NOT feel safe right now!”

As always, leave your in the comments section (or in any post) or email me directly at jrdbilski@gmail. Finally, if you’re enjoying what you read, consider sharing with others using either of buttons below my signature.

Til Next Time,
Jared