such a nice time.

Dear Maggie,

Please come visit me all the time!

love,

Megan

head-lick

botanical garden,

complete with pooping bird

music instrument museum

tram ride

not pictured: 6 cups of brown rice we made, then slowly ate; weird cereal-filled chocolate balls we couldn't quite convince ourselves to enjoy; the many beers drunk while watching the World Cup; pretzels consumed under the same circumstances; the rain, which refused to let up the entire weekend; the waterlogged farmer's market; look of joy on my face as Maggie cooked yet another meal; the fake-grass-covered benches outside of Art Basel on which I waited to meet Maggie after we had each spent two hours looking around the giant expanse of art works; look of enthusiasm on Maggie's face after I managed to return her defective coffee maker to the department store, then exchange it for another, entirely in German (plus hand gestures); the absurdly swollen river, thanks to our absurd amount of rain; speed with which I ran after realizing (thanks to a call from Maggie's mom, her first ever international call!) that I had the date of her arrival wrong; delicious lentil soup we ate at my new favorite neighborhood cafe, ZaZaa; and some other things, too numerous to list. It was pretty nice.

missing the good old Local 6

I used to take it for granted that an orchestra rehearsal was 2.5 hours long, no more, no less.  That my first break would come no later than 1.5 hours into the rehearsal.  That there would be no less than 1.5 hours in between rehearsals.  For these things, I happily paid $200/year; and I would again here, if they were available.  

Yesterday, in an ornate 17th century church right on the river in Lucerne, surrounded by epic mountain views bathed in glorious spring sunshine, swans heckling tourists for food just beyond the church's doors, my colleagues and I spent four hours (Four. Hours.) rehearsing Haydn's Creation.  We were then given a two and a half hour break, after which we returned for an almost three hour run-through.   When I got home last night, my right arm was so tired that I could barely brush my teeth.  I tried using my left hand but it just wasn't as effective. 

The church interior is quite ornate, mostly white, with decorations in shades of coral and turquoise, with tons of gold for that added effect.  It reminds me of the carriage and chandelier I saw at the deYoung made out of crystallized rock sugar. 

The audition, by the way, was just fine.  The theory exam saw me butchering some Bach on the harpsichord, whistling my way through two-part dictation, and trying my best to remember anything about 7th chords.  In an amusing example of language ideosyncrasies, the head of the school contemplated which program I would be best suited for given my "advanced age."  Ha!  Like I'm some kind of matron.  "Well, sonny," I almost said back to him.  He wouldn't have gotten the joke.  Story of my life, what.

I failed to bring my camera with me to Luzern, so I don't have any new pictures of the interesting ducks (tawny heads, red bills, red eyes!), coots, and swans, not to mention those epic views of the Alps.  So, instead I'll leave you with some artsy shots of my bass I took for a newer, better, slimmer, hopefully cooler website.