I used to have this great old guitar. It was a “Harmony F-Hole, which was a copy of a much more expensive model, and it was old. I liked it, a lot. It had accompanied me on my many excursions into cafés and coffeehouses. It thumped around in the back of my old Subaru to church outings and late night jam sessions. It was, well, familiar. The varnish was all worn off on the neck and it was scratched and well-used. Again, I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Then one day, against my better judgment, I lent it to a friend who had a gig at a neighboring college. As I handed him the guitar case that day, I remember having one of those uneasy feelings in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps you have had such a feeling yourself at one time or another? It’s one of those feelings that I frequently ignore, which…