Greg is probably 30,000 feet over Omaha by now. He's on his way to the Oregon Bach Festival, to Eugene by way of his home town of San Francisco. I hope he has a wonderful, inspirational, productive ten days of it, and that he meets the composers he's been searching for: composers who share his love of complex harmonies and rigorous counterpoint. I don't think he's had the chance to be around so many fellow classical composers since his undergraduate days.
Back here in the East, the fur-kids and I will carry on. I am still desperately busy at work, trying to meet my deadlines, so I need not worry what to do with myself while Greg's in Eugene -- at least, not for this first half-week. One of my college classmates is dropping by at the end of the week to visit for a couple of days. I'll be glad to see her, but I'm not sure I'm chuffed at the prospect of a Bataan Death March through every outlet store on the Eastern Seaboard. (I shop on the Internet. You never have to jostle for a parking space.) I can't really spare the time away from work, but I promised.
One teeny-tiny bit of music news of my own: My chorus is singing the national anthem at a minor-league baseball game next week. I love baseball, and it's been ages since I've been able to go to a game. Since we're nominally the entertainment, I hope we get good seats, preferably over the dugout on the first-base line.
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