|"Don't be vague. Say Haig & Haig."|
Strangely long day, which started with Z back to 8:30 a.m. Saturday orchestra rehearsals. Her regular teacher/conductor is on maternity leave, so her replacement was there for the first time. She is very, very French, and is a cellist with an understated sense of humor. They are playing an arrangement of Barber of Seville, which will be very fun.
The day ended with friends we don't see very often, talking loudly about religion, drugs, writing, and urban planning. Marcie was in rare form; funny as hell. We all had trouble deciding to leave, and I am hoping we didn't overstay our welcome.
Reading: Now I'm reading a NYer article about outsourcing yourself. And a submission from someone else for writers group.
And paging through Summer of Love by Gene Anthony, and The Dead Book by Hank Harrison, who was an early roadie/manager/whathaveyou, truth seems unclear, for the Grateful Dead and also Courtney Love's father. I knew this book existed, and I was interested in it for convoluted research-y, fiction writing obssessive reasons, but I knew it must have a tiny print run and who knew if I'd ever find it. Then I happened upon it quite by accident in a used book shop in Tucson, where I also felt like I ran into the ghost of Robertson Davies (what he would be doing in Tucson, I haven't clue ... perhaps just a scrap of his ghost caught inside an old book by him that I picked up). That whole trip to Tucson was quite magical.
And more Borrowers.
Writing: Two hours - reacquainting myself with manuscript and working on ghosts.
Dinner: Potluck with friends, including potato/cauliflower soup made by Natalie and much better than the stuff at the art museum. Circumstances conspired to have me create a bizarre scotch amaretto sour cocktail, leavened with some ginger ale. Scotch and amaretto is called a Godfather, so maybe this is a Godmother? Is that a gender-weird thing to say?
For all of you scotch geeks out there, this was from Steve's vintage bottle of Haig & Haig. Was it a crime that I mixed it?
Soundtrack: Not much listening but a lot of thinking about female blues singers of the 20s and 30s.
Random thing: At orchestra, the kids all got chatty and animated while switching music between pieces. The new conductor said, "All right. All right. We are just switching piece. It should be quiet. We do not need a war revolution." Is there a French colloquialism that this approximates?