In the 70's I acquired a 1917 Gibson L-1. It was pretty beat up, but I had some of the major cracks plugged up - you could actually see light through some of them - and started to play. This top of this guitar had been worn through the finish way up by the neck. Lo and behold, after playing it for awhile, my fingers wound up hitting the same place - drawn there by some 50 year old force. Pretty soon, I was learning to fingerpick. It has always felt to me as though that guitar "taught" me how to play. So, Rick, Mick, et al, when you speak of guitars (or other instruments for that matter) as living, breathing souls, full of personality, emotion, and a faintly decernable "heartbeat", I know exactly what you mean.

BTW, my new Gallagher 71 Special arrives today. I can't wait to meet her.

DW