Long ago and far away, I used to play me git-fiddle religiously—much to the chagrin of anyone within earshot. The past few days, I've felt compelled to pull out the old guitar-box and bang noisily upon it. Spent just enough time playing to make my fingers very, very sore. In fact, at work, I suggested that the old digits hurt enough to prevent me from typing, and I should go home. Alas (no doubt because it was an utterly beautiful day and I appeared otherwise healthy) they didn't buy it. The nerve!
Anyway, I figured out a couple of songs by the Decemberists, as I've been digging 'em, a couple of old New Christy Minstrels standards that I had to relearn, and an original that I wrote sometime around 1984. Matter of fact, I wrote lots of songs back in the 80s—again, much to the neighbors' chagrin.
Really enjoyed doing this, but now my fingers are really sore. I just don't see how I'm going to be able to type tomorrow. And I think the weather's supposed to be nice again...
On a much sadder note, today marks the second anniversary of our cat Charcoal's crossing the Rainbow Bridge. She was sweetest of the sweet. I miss her.
