"Pick up that mandolin! You don't need to clean, or prepare for class, or write someone a nice, polite, useless card. Pick up that mandolin!" And, I do. Since I wrote on Sunday evening, I've made an amazing discovery. I can turn to a song in my bluegrass songbook, and I can pick out the tune in about three minutes. And, I can remember it. Am I receiving my mandolin abilities from a long lost Monroe boy? Is there an old man in overalls hovering over my shoulder and upon my fingertips? It sure feels like it as I'm feeling a bit overexuberant about this entire mandola-musical affair. I've been dreaming at night about entering into Westside Auto parts and being able to play and keep up with dad and Gerald while on a new instrument. However, I'm wasting time even as I type (perhaps the internet connection should be unpaid), I should be picking! Merci le Dieu pour le mandolin!