December 9th, 1929 Hi. My name is Andrew. I am 15 years old. My mother gave me this notebook for my birthday two days ago. I was surprised. I told her that she did not have to get me anything, but when I got home today, she was waiting for me with a huge grin on her face and her hands behind her back. What am I supposed to use this for. I’ve heard that it helps with stress at work, but it feels strangely isolating to be expressing myself creatively in a medium that is only meant for myself. Is anyone gonna read this? December 25th, 1929 Merry Christmas. Sort of. I was going to go to work today, but the gears in my section were frozen. We can’t make any pullovers until the ice has melted. I need that job. My mother cried this morning because the only present she could get me was a new pair of socks. She knows I wanted a banjo, but we just can’t afford that right now. I don’t know what to say to her in those situations. I want to say that everything’s ok, but it’s not. We’re barely alive and Mr. Jenkins is getting more insistent about rent. December 29th, 1929 I need to learn how to read. I mean, I already know how to read. I need to learn how to read sheet music. My mother found me a guitar for free! One of her friend’s sons lost a finger, so they gave me his guitar. I know it’s not a banjo, but I’m still excited. January 1st, 1930 The 30s. Feels like we’re in the future. I wonder if people a hundred years ago felt like this. January 7th, 1930 Today was the first day I’ve had to myself since my mother gave me that guitar. So far, it’s just been standing in the corner of my room, staring at me. I picked it up today. The strings sounded weird when I tried to play. Maybe I’ll ask someone at work. It still feels odd to write 1930. January 9th, 1930 At work yesterday, I asked Joshua how to tune a guitar. He’s a few years older than me, but we’re about the same height. He said that when he was learning, he would tune it to the recording of “Chicago Friends”. The song starts with, I think I remember what he said, “a slow pluck of all the open strings.” That means when your left hand isn’t touching any strings. He said it goes E, A, D, G, B, E. I think we have that record. I’ll check. We do! Now I just need to borrow the record player. But my mother is listening to opera right now. I’ll let her be. January 10th, 1930 I got off work early today. There was a fire. Not a big one. But we did have to go so the fire department could save the building from collapsing. We did lose a lot of shirts though. The one I was actually working on, caught fire. But there is a bright side. I have the record player. And, even more, we have the disk! I’m playing it right now, and there it is. Right at the start of the second song on “Chicago Friends”, E, A, D, G, B, E. Now it’s tuned. But I don’t know what to do. I’ll ask Joshua next time I see him. January 16th, 1930 Chords. That’s what Joshua said. He told me I didn’t have to learn sheet music if I could make chords. That’s what all the folk singers do. So, that’s what I’ll do. Joshua wrote down some chord shapes for me. It was weird though. While he was doing it, he said that these could get me started, but that you can only get so far with “cowboy chords”. I didn’t like how smug he sounded, but I still appreciated his help, so I kept my mouth shut. To start off, Joshua gave me G Major, E minor, C Major, F Major, A minor, and D Major. I hope that’s enough to play Woodie Guthrie. March 2nd, 1980 Dad never mentioned he kept a diary. It’s strange to read his diary from 50 years ago. It makes sense though. It reads like the words of a boy who had to grow up too fast. So, like Dad said, is anybody gonna read this? If you’re curious, well, you probably already know.