Cello was good this week. On an upward trend. Last week was so-so. The week before I was sorely tempted to chuck my teacher out the second-storey window because he was unable to entirely conceal his negative reaction to the horribleness of my playing.

Somedays it just sucks. That was such a day. Bad commute, headache, whatever. He’s like all, “hrm,” and suddenly I have this strong urge to pick him up and throw him out. Not as if it were all his fault; I just felt like it.

I’m bigger than he is. Who knows. But he’s in pretty good condition. A few years younger than me. In winter, when he goes skiing, he doesn’t take the lift, he fucking gets up early and walks up the mountain, then skis down.

Wiry. Long arms and legs. If he spread out his arms and legs into a big “X” it would be hard to push him through. So instead I just told myself it was one of those days.

Orchestra rehearsals have started. A little Brahms, a little Mozart, a little Vivaldi, a little Haydn. Haydn? Handel? One of those guys. They even included a piece for harp, so Beta gets a solo this year. We play four concerts this year, instead of three like last year. It’s going to be fun. Lots of running around, but fun.

Good turnout this year. Nine or ten cellos, most of them full-sized. Remember, this is a “youth orchestra”, so most sections have a lot of little kids running around. Not the cellos, though. Three little kids, maybe. The rest, teenagers. Two attractive grown women (up from 1 last year), and me.

That many cellos, that’s a big bass section.

The new woman had nice things to say about my cello. “Oh, that’s the cello that sounds so nice,” she said. I wanted to offer to let her play it, but there is a way to say that in German that sounds a little like a double entendre, and that is what came to mind first, so I just said, “gee, thanks,” instead. Nice of her to say that. I double-checked with my teacher at my last lesson, the one that went so well. He confirmed that yes, my cello would sound quite nice in the right hands, it is one of the nicer ones in the orchestra.

That’s one thing that sucks about learning an instrument. In the beginning, you have to learn on some fucked-up Chinese rental that screeches, because who knows if you’re going to stick with it? It would take an expert to get a good sound out of it, at best. It’s demotivating.

Now, though. On a good day it really does sound nice.

I had a dream the other night that I was on Saturn. It looked pretty much the way Earth does, but everything was heavier.

The mornings have been foggy lately. I leave the house, it’s foggy, deer grazing in the fog at the bases of hunters’ blinds in the woods, stuff like that; then it gradually clears up as I get closer to town. The mornings I can leave early it’s really nice, with the sunrise. October is the best month, I think, at least it is here.

Alpha left yesterday for Japan. Just spoke to her on the phone. They let her bring fluid on the plane.

I.

Lou Reed: [Lifts Iggy Pop onto chair so he can see into mirror. Stands behind Iggy with his chin on Iggy's shoulder so their faces are side-by-side looking into mirror.]
Iggy Pop: What?
Lou Reed: Notice anything?
Iggy Pop: Like what?
Lou Reed: Same face.
Iggy Pop: Really? You think so?
Lou Reed: Just look! Look at the cheeks and the chin.
Iggy Pop: Wow! Right!
Lou Reed: And the eyes and the nose.
Iggy Pop: [Laughs]
Lou Reed: [Laughs and hugs Iggy Pop]
Lou Reed: How can a 47-year old man and a 9-year old girl have the same face? It doesn’t seem possible, and yet there it is. And such a nice face.

II.
Iggy Pop: What happened to your throat? You have something stuck to it.
Lou Reed: I cut myself shaving.
Iggy Pop: That many times???
Lou Reed: I like a close shave.
Iggy Pop: [With sympathy] Man, I’m glad I’m not old yet.
Lou Reed: Excuse me?
Iggy Pop: Nothing.
Lou Reed: I bet your pardon? Really, I didn’t hear what you said.
Iggy Pop: Nothing. I didn’t say anything.

There was a special harvest mass at church in our village last Sunday. Gamma and her classmates all brought wicker baskets with vegetables, nuts, fruit and flowers. The priest blessed them and I suppose us as well.

The church has an old-fashioned cross-shaped floorplan. When mass was over, they opened the exits at either side. The one on the right led to the cemetery. The one on the left led to a sort of square where tables had been set up and decked with wine and open-faced sandwiches spread with Grammelschmalz, which as I understand it is the lard and crunchy bits left over after you cook a roast. It tastes damn good.

We went out that door.

I have begun to scratch backs.
Family members only, so far.
I find doing so increases the likelihood they will scratch mine.
This morning, for instance, Gamma was all, Left. Left. Higher. Yes. Now all over.
We took a delivery of wood this morning. A man driving a tractor backed a long green side-dumping trailer into our driveway at 7 AM and side-dumped three cubic meters of firewood. It made a real noise. Our cats were skittish for quite some time afterwards.
Gamma didn’t want to listen to my recording of Anner Bylsma playing Bach cello suites before school, so we played a few hands of rummy instead. Then we debated the pros (whee!) and cons (against the rules) of her riding her scooter to school. I walked her to school scooterless and drove to work.
I listened to the classical radio station but the music was boring so I listened to Anner Bylsma playing Bach’s cello suites because it is nice music and I am trying to learn the prelude.
I listened and listened and had to smile because you know what? Parts of what I play now are beginning to sound remotely like parts of what he plays. Or, when I listen to what he plays, I can now understand parts.
Only parts; other parts are still all WTF? But still, now it’s like listening to a language one speaks badly spoken fast, rather than a language one speaks not at all spoken in a train driving the opposite direction from the train you’re on.
I listened for quite a while, until I had a feeling I hadn’t had since I was 19 or 20 and in a cheap hotel room in Vancouver BC with thin walls next door to a man seemingly dying of emphysema but determined to cough out lobes of each lung beforehand. Coughing and coughing, non-stop.
It was that same feeling, the feeling of being next door to that guy in the crappy hotel room, except instead of the dying guy it was Anner Bylsma playing the cello.
Otherwise, the same.
So I turned off Anner and listened to the radio some more. Nothing wrong with Anner. He just needs a break. Next Easter when Isserlis publishes his recording of Bach’s suites I’ll have a little party and compare the two or something.
Anyway on the radio: Bach. Just like what Anner had just been playing, only on another instrument.
It sounded like the fricking Prelude, and it sounded like a banjo.
I was all, that must be a mandolin or something classy. But wouldn’t it be cool for someone that good to play Bach on a banjo?
When the song was finished, the DJ said it was B