A very talented friend of mine published her first novel. It is a murder mystery solved by a Quaker linguist. My friend is a Quaker linguist so she knows how the mind of a Quaker linguist works. I signed up for getting the first four chapters to preview hopefully just in time for our Italy vacation.

Axel saw his shoulder surgeon yesterday. We actually got to see him rather than one of his underlings. After a few pushes and pulls to his shoulder he pronounced that Axel(‘s shoulder) was doing exceedingly well!

Last night I met our neighbors, one house removed. Axel already knew them, especially since he and the lady of the house had grown up in Manchester. Her family is but one of the many who built the giant mansions around us, a hundred years ago, and who then intermarried, connecting everyone to everyone.

We had decided on a moveable feast: cocktails at our house, dinner at theirs, and then a house concert further down Masconomo Street by four astonishingly talented young musicians who played Schuman (Clara and Robert) and Brahms. It was the second season of the fledgling Manchester music program.

The ensemble consisted of two violins, one cello, one viola and piano. In various combinations they played pieces from Robert Schuman, Clara Schuman and Johannes Brahms. In between pieces we learned about the interconnected life stories of the three composers, illustrating how the ups and downs in their various relationships informed the music they played for us.

Axel tried his first full night out of the recliner. This was only possible with the help of some powerful painkillers. I made him a nest from pillows, so high I couldn’t see him.  It was a disorienting experience, the new location and the drugs, and not entirely pain free, but we call it progress nevertheless.

And now it is Saturday morning, my favorite part of the week. We changed the breakfast furniture around so that we can sit on my mother’s little couch and look out over the wet cove and garden, drawing inspiration from the most beautiful place in the world.

I was supposed to have gone flying with Bill this morning but the FAA has issued a flight restriction over Manchester (NH), which effectively closes down our small local airport. So we are grounded and I have to think of something else. There are too many great choices: drink tea and continue to read  Kurlansky’s book about Gloucester (The last fish tale), dig potatoes, make Kimchi from our kale and cabbage plants, or learn Italian. To be so blessed!

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August 2012
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