I Dream of Pooh

The endodontist's office yesterday was like a frilly, floral, Pooh-themed bad dream. Not only was the radio blasting old-school, droning country, but there were doilies on every surface, tired old sayings etched into tired old wooden plaques, and Pooh, Pooh, POOH. Pooh with his ubiquitous honey pot, standing beside steel syringes and assorted sharp objects. I vowed there and then that my walls will always be wide, understated expanses adorned with tasteful art - NEVER speckled with every family photograph that I can get my paws on. Portraiture is only very rarely acceptable to display on walls - in historic buildings.

And eyelet lace? NEVAR!

Luckily, the personalities of the endodontist and her assistants more than compensated for the horrid decor, and the procedure went smoothly. I haven't taken anything for pain yet, apart from a couple of Excedrin right afterward to bring the swelling down. Why do root canals get such bad press?

I dreamed last night that I was pregnant - but only enough to be showing only a tiny bit. I wondered how I'd fit into my wedding dress.

It was a rainy Tuesday eve, and I found myself in the company of L and her imposing but affable Bosendorfer. She gave me Richard Faith's Prelude #2 to learn, since the other pieces I'm working on are SO HARD, and I am feeling a little bit jaded about them... And this is one of the few contemporary piano pieces I haven't a) been depressed by, b) hated; and/or c) been able to play better with my toes or butt cheeks. I hypothesize that the body of contemporary music hasn't had enough time for a thorough weeding, and the bad stuff is as prominent as the good stuff. Richard Faith happens to be one of L's oldest friends!

The first page is slow, understated and haunting, with just enough discordance to keep you wondering where it will go, wondering whether it's lighthearted or melancholy. I'm fascinated by it in spite of its simplicity. Or because of. I almost want to play it and only it at the holiday performance, amidst strains of weary carols and wheezing seasonal themes.