the brain has to retain what lingers in the fingers

In the picture above, an old Italian mandolin has begun its little transition from forgotten, neglected migrant artefact, to a playable addition to the self-imposed nudges at the edges of my comfort zone. I bought it for me, and I will enjoy the restoration, but in truth there are other members of my family much more likely to bring it into song. I think that I'm probably too lazy to make the tunes linger in the fingers long enough to out-pace my declining memory cells....The rosette has been re-fitted, and a couple of major belly cracks have been sorted so far. It was made in 1916- a tragic year- and it came to me in a homemade serge bag. I suspect it is made from 'great coat' fabric from the Italian army. I sometimes wonder what it might have seen and heard.

Nobody will be surprised to learn that this (above) was the view that caused me to want this mandolin...

Same mill pond, different son. You can see we really struggled on Friday. We have had many days of very light breezes, and while they don't make for exhilarating sailing, they do make for some placid, beautiful moments.