Talking with Phil last night,

He called me to tell me, among other things, that he has been singing, professionally, Richard Wagner's five songs (for Mathilde Wesendonck, as I recall), and that they are "fucking wonderful and beautiful--like Tristan und Isolde without the orchestra."  Jeez, more Wagner conundrums.  I still can't forgive our UrNazi his animadversions on Schumann's perfect songs--and to have to credit him with kunstliche Liedergeschaftnis (I made it up) as well is almost indigestible.  But, oh well, I recall the Siegfried Idyll, two hands of which I have learned to play almost perfectly in its piano 4-hand reduction--and I roll my eyes toward Heaven, and say "Whatever!"

Anyway (this is a good place to announce it) I've called Walter and Kristen, and inveigled her to invite us to Thanksgiving dinner in Spokane, promising to help pay for it and to bring the wine.  So, I've bought my roundtrip plane ticket (and am in the process of buying Walter's), and I've got a double room at the Davenport (downtown Spokane) for Walter and me, booked for the evening of the 21st, through the morning of the 26th--lots of time for me and Kirsten to play through several dozen Haydn symphonies, along with some Mozart and Handel and, of course, Bach.

And also, I should say, this all points towards the end of life, my continued residence at this pleasant and paisible address, and to an utterly thrilling and fulfilling trip to Europe--hopefully from May through July of next year.  Phil has already sent me brochures for Flüssenreise--the temptingest of which, so far, is a 13-day voyage from Budapest to Prague, (via, I suppose, the Danube and then die Moldau) on a kind of a luxury barge, with meals provided by a two-star Michelin chef.  Mmm. Mm.