No longer hung up

On this fair holiday morning, I was awakened by a curious event. Around nine o'clock (about when I would have arisen anyway, if I had troubled to set the alarm), there was a small crash just outside the bedroom door. It was my Buffalo diploma.

It had been hanging there for years, and the synthetic string chose this minimally-inconvenient time to fray apart. The frame broke in two equal halves, the glass was shattered into 50 pieces, but the document itself suffered no hurt.

My esteemed and ever-astonishing colleague Peter H. Bloom, God bless him, printed the Après-mystère flute part out and played through it the very afternoon I sent him. He has the idea of trying it out on piccolo, and why not?  I can see the perky, fife-ish character of the opening suggesting piccolo. So when we do get together to rehearse, we'll try it both ways . . . and an alternate version for piccolo may just be born.