I came home to a fabulous chicken/purslane/meatball soup, with lots of cilantro in the meatballs. Rusty’s really developing her cooking skills these days.
I also got clippings of the two write-ups of my award, in the Michigan papers. My father had dissed the Port Huron Times Herald writeup, but it’s actually marginally the better-written of the two. Garcia got extra points for calling the Archdiocese of Detroit for info on the new translation. I suspect that (contrary to what you might expect from the Hispanic surname) she’s not a Catholic, as her questions on the phone showed that she didn’t quite get what I had done, so it’s good that she did her homework. The Jeffersonian piece doesn’t quote any independent sources. (I could have been blowing smoke up their ass, though I did include the Foundation’s website in the press release…but then, maybe I should start my own foundation and give myself awards. What would Richard Nanes do?). It relied heavily on my mom (with the results you’d predict) and on my personal web page. The Weekly Villager pretty much just printed the press release.
After dinner, I picked everything but the beans (that’s tonight) and ran electric wire around the chicken yard, as the new kids have developed the bad habit of roosting on the fence (and then jumping off the wrong side). Then, as we went to bed, it started to rain, and then stopped. “Oh well, same old same old.” Uh-UH! We awoke to about 2.6 inches! I didn’t believe the rain gauge until I walked to the garden and saw a bit of standing water. Maybe a little too much at once, and I’ll come home Sunday to burst tomatoes and other mischief, but it was very badly needed.
I got an email from Bob Cronin, and the new alto shawm is about done. I briefly considered having him wait for his money for as long as I waited overtime for the instrument, but there was nothing to be gained by that, and I want the instrument…though I’ve been toying with the idea of giving up playing. I seem to gone directly from asking “What do I want to be when I grow up?” to “What do I need to get done before I die?” Isn’t there supposed to be an intermediate state in there? The axe should hold value, and I won’t be able to afford it after I retire (and Bob IS retiring; this is his last batch). So I will soon have an A460 alto. I’ll have my cell on, waiting for the calls…don’t worry, I’m a euphonium player, I’m used to it.
Tomorrow: off to glory! Or at least, off to Mordor on the Potomac.