Sunday

Disjointed thoughts on a day of rest:

I am reading A.S. Byatt's Babel Tower, listening to selections from Bach's Brandenburg Concertos (I love the 3rd best, I think), and occasionally sipping from a mug of Moroccan mint tea. I don't know why I chose to make hot tea, when outside it is nearly 90 degrees.

This morning I practiced Mozart's Sonata in C Major a little. Those first two pages are deceptively simple, although I confess that my fingers, unused to the exercise, can't trill like they used to, so the 30th measure frustrates me every time I play it. The second part of the first movement is daunting, with its left-handed swift-running scales; I only just started working on it last night. The fingers on my left hand are not nearly as strong, nor as agile, as the fingers on my right.

I couldn't sleep last night and started going through papers at about 3am, tossing some, piling others. I hate piles, but I can't seem to get away from them. I did this for about two hours, before I finally lay down in my bed again, and went to sleep.

Tonight I will (hopefully) write madly, trying to make my Tuesday deadline. But for now, while it is hot outside, I will dawdle between the book, the piano, and the kitchen, according to the whim of the moment.

I love Sundays.

PS No, I've changed my mind. I think the Brandenburg Concertos 5 and 6 (allegros) are my favorite.