from a wonderful evening concert featuring a skilled classical violinist (name on program... downstairs... too far... Cho Chiang Lian, I think) up at the Gardner Hall.
During the Stravinsky I was thrilled, excited, tapping along with my fingers as if I actually knew the fingering patterns myself.
All I could think about was going home after the concert and marching right to my violin and busting out an old de Beriot.
During the Brahams, I started to get sleepy. Sleepy during Brahams... very predictable. "I can beat this urge to curl up on Scotty's shoulder and 'rest my eyes' as my dad always says when he claims he's not actually sleeping." Nope. By the second movement my heavy eyes are to the point where opening them and exposing them to any light would give me a serious shock. I'm not sleeping, but I'm not tap-tapping with my fingers.
All I could think about was going home after the concert and marching right to my bed and busting out the deepest and longest slumber in my Lindsey history.
So of course now I'm blogging. And listening to Jeffery Lewis sing "I Saw a Hippie Girl on 8th Avenue." My, how the night has morphed.
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