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Sun Nov 28 07:57:13 PM EST 2021
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From sunrise to sunset, phone off. No screens, no keyboards.

I sat at my desk, black screen staring at me, and reached
behind me for a mandolin. I have a few. I used to have one
in reach of every one of my seats. It wasn't for love of the
mandolin itself. It wasn't for bluegrass or old Itallian
music. Rather, the mandolin was portable and frankly hard to
make sound bad -- at least not loudly. I used to carry one
into the cublicles in the morning and take it on my breaks
in the cafeteria or outside at the picnic tables.

I took lessons once a week to progress. I didn't make it too
far, but I could pluck out a tune and I could hold my own
with some chop chords when the old timers and bluegrass
folks gathered. There were two positives though: I met a lot
of people, several of whom stopped by the chat; others
joined to sing along; some ran home and came back with their
instruments to join me. The other? It was a channel for
creativity. In short order, I was writing my own fiddle
tunes -- unadorned skeletons of fiddle tunes, but originals
nonetheless. I'd share them on social media, however raw and
unpolished, and from time to time people would share their
own renditions.

How cool is that?

So how is it that that mandolin had dust on it at all?

By the time my son was ready for his bath, I'd already
worked out a fiddle tune. When I came down the stairs, my
wife greeted me with a "That was nice!"

While my son soaked, I took my coffee and a guitar outside.
Sunny and 50F -- the warm day of the week. I took that
fiddle tune and worked out the picking on the six strings.
What could be better?

I closed the evening with a 2.5 mile walk around the
neighborhood, returning just as the sun set, and then
prepared dinner for us. Honestly, I've opened the laptop now
just to write this note -- maybe a reminder for some future
self.