Pickin' the mandolin on my way back to bondage

If you're not a bluegrass fan, you may not relate to what I'm saying. I love bluegrass. Doesn't matter what kind of mood I'm in - if a good bluegrass tune starts playing, I feel like dancing. The music makes me so happy. Even the sad songs make me happy. So when John asked me the other day, after I'd spent weeks feeling like every day was a big waste of time, what I'd really enjoy doing, I said "I'd like to play in a bluegrass band. But that's not going to happen."

He seems to think I'd make a pretty good mandolin player. I took violin lessons for years but I never got to be that good, so playing is a frustrating experience for me. (Say what you want, Aunt Kathie, but I'm really not good at it.) But a mandolin has frets so it's easier to play. You don't have to worry about being in tune. That made a lot of sense to me and so I became pretty enthused about the idea of learning to play the mandolin. And I just so happen to have one lying around. It's the one my grandfather used to play when we'd visit for the holidays.

If I didn't think of something interesting to occupy my time, I was going to drive myself insane. I can only job hunt for so many hours a week and for some reason it's hard to do anything else when you're thinking about getting a job. I started playing mandolin yesterday and it's managed to hold my attention so far. I'd happily play it all day long if my finger tips didn't hurt so bad. Good fun.