22. December 2005 · Comments Off · Categories: imported, Ramble

I spell my first name with a y. A good number of people don’t realize that, and of course it’s easy to make that “i” mistake. But even some of my family members don’t realize this fact that has been so for 49 years, one month, and three days. But now I have made it public; I spell my name “Patty” not “Patti”. And if I had it to do over again I’d be “Patricia” because “Patty” sounds so darn whiney. But it’s too late for me to change now. Don’tcha think?

Now you know. This is news you can use.

And “Mitchell” is with two l’s (is that apostrophe necessary? I only use it because it’s easier to read that way) not one. I can’t tell you how many times I’m asked that question, and yet I’ve never seen Mitchell spelled with one l.

What this has to do with music is fairly small, but some of my oboe students are still spelling my name incorrectly on checks. Maybe this will help …?

My Nutcracker poem has been posted at the Beyond magazine blog! How about that?!

But now I wonder; should I put it up here as well, or should I just suggest you click on the link above? Such a dilemma.

In Other News
I’m wondering now if I don’t have allergies, but instead have a cold that came on sneezingly strong. I’m not feeling all that well today. Playing two Nuts (and two more tomorrow) may prove to be a challenge. It’s difficult to play when one’s ears are plugged, and I find it absolutely no fun to play with a sore throat, which I feel coming on at the moment. Maybe it’s like dancing on blistered feet? Well, maybe not quite that bad, but still …. After my morning raisin bran (I have raisin bran every morning, Terry. ) I think it’s hot tea for me. And maybe some sympathy if I can find it here anywhere.

I’ve often gotten sick after I’ve finished with a run of something. My body seemed to know just when it was allowed to break down. Maybe getting sick during is what being 49 means? I wonder.

22. December 2005 · Comments Off · Categories: imported, Quotes

In life as in the dance: Grace glides on blistered feet.

-Alice Abram