Cherry Spice Color Story

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

I liked guitar and he liked baseball. I wanted to be a musician and he wanted to be a Yankee. Growing up, I probably ate more meals at his house than my own. My guitar was a beautiful cinnamon brown, his bat was a worn ash and we took them both everywhere we went. When I sit in my kitchen in the morning with my coffee and I look at those warm cherry-brown cabinets, it reminds me of my first guitar, and it takes me back to the day he used it as a baseball bat. I still owe him for that one.