careening along

It took me a little over a month before I had a piece in performance-worthy condition at Mechelen. It was months before I had anything memorized. It's been two months in Rochester and I've got five pieces in rotation, amongst which a three-movement suite is now learned in full. I've performed a movement from another piece, and have two movements memorized.

And this is just business as usual. What a place, Eastman.

I could have cycled to the River Campus for my ring had I paused long enough in my dash from lesson to bus to realize that it was neither raining nor bitterly cold as it had been yesterday. Instead, I had to roll through a glorious fall day inside a crowded bus laden with my carillon and organ paraphernalia. The ring didn't sound too good; too much new repertoire, and I'm still figuring out how to make this damn carillon sound good. Tone was supposed to be one of my strong points. "The feminine touch," my European concert hosts sometimes marveled (erroneously). So why am I banging this poor thing to death?

For the first time, the elevator was broken when I was tried to catch the bus back, so I frantically figured out the alternate exit route and swung myself down innumerable short flights of stacks stairs. It's remarkable how similar the SML and Rush Rhees stacks are; if I was teleported randomly into either, I'd have difficulty deciding where I was unless I saw the windows (whether they were stained glass and what the view outside was). But the RRL stairs are definitely easier to dash down. Amusingly enough, the door that finally allowed my escape is the one that undergraduates take their crowbars and pickaxes to; the lock had nearly been wrenched out of place.

Learn to play, folks. Get a key!

Paul was kind enough to drive me to the Marketplace Mall and even to Lori's Natural Foods, where I stacked up on Rice Dream horchata, new-agey herbs and grains and whatnot. In return for ferrying me about, I got him stroopwafels. They were mediocre in comparison to echte Goudse stroopwafels, but he enjoyed them so much that I promised to bring some back the next time I swing through the Low Countries. In turn, he offered to bring some of those New Mexican hot peppers he's famed for cooking. Could be a fruitful exchange.

I returned from the mall with two beautiful sweaters (largely courtesy of my parents' winter survival grant), a police hat to complete last year's Halloween costume, Hot Topic legwarmers for who knows what, and my mobile account switched to my European GSM phone. Unfortunately, its tri-band feature only gives me the band that's less common in Rochacha, so we'll see how this whole cell saga works out.