Willow, weep for me.

It snowed yet again today, adding a fresh coat of white to the mountains that were turning an ugly brown from road dirt. My two foreign students, the African young man with the unpronounceable last name and my German soprano, had productive lessons. I always feel so vindicated when they realize that they have done something that actually makes them better singers. It’s those “aha” moments that make the whole teaching game worthwhile.

I got up and sang a bit of my solo in choir today, the part under which they are singing some vocal accompaniment our fearless leader has concocted. It’s a little weird, methinks, but I’m not going to tell him. According to Little Princess, I sang purdy.

Speaking of singing, I was supposed to go over to my husband’s bass player’s house tonight to record two or three jazz standards over their existing instrumental recordings. I even practised them. But when I called to get the street number for his house, only his answering machine picked up and he has not responded to the message I sent. This is a little disconcerting. The recording was supposed to be an audition for a wine festival to be held here this summer--they wanted a jazz ensemble with a singer. So, it looks as though they won’t be playing there because the deadline will pass without my mellifluous tones to sway the judges.

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