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.