As soon as I returned home this afternoon, Robert asked if I wanted to rehearse together. He had been editing the last part of our duo CD and not yet practised the guitar.
Meanwhile, there was clean laundry scattered on the bed waiting to be folded and put away.
My to-do list remains endlessly long: decluttering the attic, giving up the 20% that contributes to the 80% of the mess, and everything else that stands in the way of greater productivity. I am tired of writing about this in my daily “free writing” journal. I want to return to that jetsetting existence of living in 5-star boutique hotels where clutter is a foreign word.
I fell back on the bed, exhausted from thinking about all that needs to be done before 2010 creeps through the door.
“I’m tired,” I said. I had gone to bed after 3 am, my eyes glued to the Internet screen while waiting for Robert to finish brewing a new batch of home brewed beer. The two (maximum three) hours he estimated last evening stretched to seven. Let’s hope the new pilsner is worth it.
“C’mon! Shall we finish playing the Grand Potpourri National?” he begged.
“Why don’t you practise by yourself?” I suggested. “You need to get your ya ya’s out.”
Lately I noticed that he was more relaxed after he had time to practise the guitar alone. Deprive him of a few hours of solo practice, such as that Friday when we had to get the house ready for a Christmas party, then he gets easily annoyed….. even by the sound of a violin.
“I got my ya ya’s out already,” I said. Earlier I had spent nearly two hours practising to my heart’s content. I could play the entire Undine Sonata of Reinecke without stopping. It was a joy to revisit Franck’s Sonata in A for violin — but equally for cello and piano. Stacks of new music sit on my piano waiting eagerly for me to devour.
“You’re right,” he lightened up. “I need to get my ya ya’s out!”
Meanwhile, I am getting my ya ya’s out by writing this blog.