There was a big soccer game, and the kids sang a rousing rendition of some hymn beforehand… I wish I could remember what it was. M was talking about going to see a counselor, because she wasn’t sure about the future. I had sat in on my cousin’s session, and had to tell M that I wasn’t so sure the counselor knew what they were talking about. For some reason I tackled J in a tent, which fell down on us. M pulled it away and took a picture of us untangling from eachother.
And from monday morning:
D was teaching me left-handed fiddle, and my right-hand banjo fingernails were getting in the way of pressing the strings. I said “I guess I’ll have to cut them,” and he agreed. But I really didn’t want to, because I like them for banjo. I asked him how he reconciles the conundrum. Didn’t think to learn to play right-handed, it felt like I had to lose the familiar if I wanted to try the new.