To a man with an iron . . .

. . . everything looks like a wrinkled tablecloth.

This morning I am reaching for a Haydn string quartet nicknamed (who knows who by) “Sunrise” – since the sunrise is about the last thing we might see this blustery morning in Boston.  The morning’s listening will include Mennin & Wuorinen, as well . . . maybe some other composers whose names end in –n.

Julie Andrews singing (in a duet with herself) “And hence, they find their task is not a grind” was a curious musical passage to cross mine inner ear while I was on the train this morning.  Will it mean that my (long) Monday will not be a grind?  Will it mean that especial effort is asked of me, to avoid feeling ’neath the grind? We shall see . . . .