relative humidity in my room= 52% = happy cello
temp., because old new york apartments are not allowed to turn of the heat= 82°
learning J.C. Cooper’s Fantasy for Cello and Piano and diving into the jungle, jumbled. if i had a paper dictionary I would go hunting to obsessively alliterate that.
finding myself still thrilled to play a bach prelude for the 213/4487 time, and thinking of it as Andrew Wyeth might “…I’ve walked that hill a hundred times, a thousand times, ever since I was a small child, so it was deathless as far as I was concerned. I could probably just paint a hill for the rest of my life, actually”.