The sound of a violin playing causes an almost visceral reaction in anyone within listening distance. It can take you back to a perfect evening with someone remarkable, move you to tears thinking of the long dead, put a smile on your face, start your feet tapping, remind you of a street corner in a small European city, or fill your eyes with the smoke of a long forgotten tiny bar in the Texas Hill Country.

I have an amazing leather-bound book that was my grandfathers. It is a mostly English (a little German) treatise on building a violin and was published in 1889. There are maybe 20 full-sized patterns in it that have been removed, traced, and returned. I have no idea if my grandfather was the tracer or if he ever attempted or built the violin outlined in the book. It could have been a Bucket-List project for him, but I know he touched it and at the very least thumbed through it and looked at it sitting on the shelf that I found it on in his workshop when I was 8. Now it is on my Bucket-List.