Back now from breakfast, the day really nice, the sun and such in their rightful places, the air crisp without being cold, a warm day ahead. Good for a Friday walk and some guitar pickin’, I'm thinkin’. Well, a good day for a walk and pounding some more on my fingertips, get them in shape so we can progress with this learn a guitar business. No complaints, we're taking this in a sensible fashion, no great expectations, although I did order the sheet music (guitar and voice) for ‘Layla’ yesterday, to arrive in something like a week they said on their web site.

Layla? Isn't that, you know, a bit ambitious?

They rate its difficulty in the “intermediate” range. I figure, what? Two years of practice? Every day? What else am I going to do for two hours a day over these next two coming years? Watch television?

You're not serious.

I spent $3.95 for a copy of the sheet music for ‘Layla’. Sue me.

Later. A short walk down by the lake, taking some pictures of the geese. Hard to get a interesting picture of the geese without going through some contortions, something I'm less interested in as I get older. Still, snap, snap. A farther on walk then to the ATM near my morning coffee shop, taking a picture of the Day of the Dead café in passing. They have some interesting figures in their windows and, evidently, they've been in business for some time (but only recently here on Grand), but boy howdy do I not find it inviting. Nothing askance about The Day of the Dead itself, it's a celebration that lends itself to photography and useful introspection, but drinking coffee in the dark and dank is an affectation for another generation.

A walk back thinking maybe I'd catch a bus downtown, a picture of the discarded clothing I'd photographed yesterday by a bench beside Splash Pad Park across the street from a KFC. A story behind them? Probably. Many stories, if you let your imagination take over, something I've not been good at. Something else to encourage? The thought occurs, but without generating much interest.

Another picture, another series of possible stories. A nice car, how did it get left long enough to grow a boot? Or is it parked in something other than a parking space? What of the owner? Are we to be sympathetic? Goes both ways. The evil out of money local government going after every nickle they can find? More than a nickle to get that boot removed. More than a nickle if they end up towing it to wherever they tow miscreant automobiles. Why did I take the photograph? Must be something for me in it somewhere.

Another in an unending series of photographs of this thing. I take them with interest if not enthusiasm. We are generally too cool for enthusiasm. OK, write this, get on with the guitar practice. I think I'm seeing progress. The fingers go more quickly to their proper places, the fingertips definitely hurting, but they're going longer before the sting reaches a point I quit. In other words: callouses are forming!

They said “somewhat over a week”. They actually said a week in the sneaky way that makes you know it's more than a week, but not all that much more, said in a way that implies two weeks and in those two weeks you'd definitely have fingertips of steel. Well, leather. Leather-like paper. So I'm saying a week and thinking two. I really doubt that it matters. (Hup! Hup!)

Later still. A bus downtown, a small coffee and some chocolate out on the patio in front of Peet's, one lone picture then over at the City Center, a walk and then a bus ride back to the apartment. Time again to test the fingertips. Which is OK, I'm finding I'm looking forward to it. I wonder how long this will last? Long enough to acquire an Eric Clapton strat?

I hope not.

They're no more damaging than a decent camera lens.

You'd damn well better be able to play ‘Laya’ then.

That should put it off well beyond any need for concern. My thought was, though, if I go through the full three months and still feel the desire to play, that might be something to think about.