A rough reunion

When you've played guitar since 16, leaving it in the case is the second-worst decision possible.

The worst is picking up a mandolin in the meantime, then returning to the guitar.

It's the equivalent of switching from a Geo Metro to an Escalade.

Since devoting myself to the smaller mandolin, I slacked off on guitar (again). It's criminal to let a Martin sit untouched for months.

But no more. To better split my time, I wake up a half-hour early and play the mandolin. When home from work, the guitar comes out. After dinner, the mandolin comes out for an encore.

What sounds so simple quickly turns painful.

The frets never seemed so far apart before, my fingers just stubs incapable of spanning them.

But by learning a few new songs each night, the hurting fingertips will ease up.

I have faith that Mykonos and Sun It Rises from the Fleet Foxes, latter-day Neil Young, a sprinkling of Bruce from all eras and a few Beatles favorites will restore the calluses in no time.