The Fredösphere

I'm wrapping up work on the project which I hinted about earlier, but prefer to keep secret.  I can say that I've enjoyed immensely these six weeks of concentrated work.  I am completely in love with the final product, and I am filled with optimism for its future.  Art and human nature being what they are, all this optimism is completely consistent with the scenario wherein the work is a complete pile of crappe.  Sigh.

Anyway, the deadline looms and I am scurrying to put the finishing touches on the manuscript.  Like expression markings.  And the text.  You know, low-priority stuff.  Naturally, this is the time my Finale program chose to loose its fonts.  I think I know how to fix this problem, but how the heck did the fonts disappear?  This is all very disturbing.

This afternoon I'll be singing in a memorial service for a dear old lady who lived well into her 80s and was a faithful choral enthusiast at my church for decades.  She went by the odd nickname of Dodo.  Sadly, Dodo never really got a chance to retire, because, right up to the end, she had to take care of ... her mother, who is well over 100, house-bound and stone deaf, but otherwise quite hale.  I suppose that would be one of the worst things about surviving to great old age:  watching your children turn into codgers.