2020 in Review

There are years which linger in memory for all the wrong reasons.  1980, the year of my parents’ divorce and my abduction to California, is one.  2005 is another, for reasons I won’t enumerate here.  In many ways, 2020 will eclipse them all.  Certainly, 2020 was the most challenging year Americans have faced since 1968, with consequences even more devastating.  For me, it was a year of personal disruption and concern for friends, for family, for nation, and for our world.

2020 marked the passing of a member of my extended family, with other members of Dan’s and my family facing profound medical challenges, which occupy a large portion of our thoughts.

But for me the most personally devastating event of 2020 was the death of my dog Mason.  At the beginning of 2020, he seemed healthy and vigorous, and I hoped he might make it to the age of 15.  But he began to slow down in the spring and deteriorated further in the summer – dying just short of his 12^th birthday.  I still think of Mason every day, feel a pang in my gut from missing him.  Daniel and I have considered getting another dog (or two) but have decided to hold off until the pandemic is under control and life returns to relative normal.  With me working at home full time, a sudden return to onsite work might be distressing for a dog.    

Now he's with the angels.

Just as there are those who shared with their grandchildren their experience of combat in World War II, or where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated, or how they watched the first moon landing, there are those today who will tell younger generations of how we sheltered in our homes, avoided restaurants except for take-out, and wore masks during the year of COVID-19. And we will tell tales of the willfully ignorant who laughed at the very real threat COVID poised, refused to wear masks, making asses of themselves while bringing danger to themselves and others – and how a number of them faced a fatal comeuppance.  Those fools will go down in history alongside those who protested against school integration and civil rights.  Those who lost loved ones to COVID – without even being able to properly say “goodbye” – will have the most poignant stories of all.  And we will, hopefully, remember and speak of the lessons we learned at a frightful cost: Listen to the scientists, not the political propagandists.  Put the needs of your community above your own convenience.

Working from home, which will likely continue for me until summer 2021, has been a mixed bag.  On the plus side, not having to commute to work gives me back about an hour of my day and saves the cost of commuting and buying lunch (I’m too lazy to brown bag it).  On the other hand, my home utility bills have increased due to additional usage.  Most of all, I miss my work friends.

Home offices have their advantages

The pandemic has created ripples that extend far beyond the sick and dying.  Public events from concerts to sports were cancelled or moved online.  Who among us will forget the bizarre experience of watching baseball players in an empty stadium, with a cardboard cutout crowd and recorded cheers?  After over a century, the art form of cinema is likely near an end – at least as far as groups of strangers purchasing tickets and overpriced food to crowd into a closed room with often sticky floors and stare at a screen.  I’ve enjoyed the shared experience of movie theatres since I was a child, but the writing has been on the wall for a decade and is now crystal clear: streaming is replacing movie theatres.  I am hopeful this will not be the case for live performances, which are ephemeral and can’t be fully captured by a screen of any size or home speakers of even the finest quality.  That hope is backed up by the fact that whenever Daniel and I have gone to Severance Hall and especially Playhouse Square, the house has been well filled – which was rarely the case with cinema before the pandemic.    

We will also likely tell subsequent generations about the anxious, fraught week following the November election – undoubtedly the most consequential our nation has faced since 1940 – and the weeks of disinformation emanating from Donald Trump and his enablers, their pathetic posturing, and futile legal efforts to thwart the clear will of the American people. 

The Trump era has been a difficult one for Daniel and me, and we seriously considered becoming expatriates should Trump get a second term.  As it is, even with Trump’s defeat we have reexamined our future priorities and relationship to my home state of Ohio.  Most of my formative years were spent here, and I returned age 27 after nine years in Massachusetts to care for my maternal grandmother after the death of my mother.  But it’s clear to me that Ohio has changed over the past decades, and not for the better.  With each passing year, it becomes less and less likely we will remain here past retirement and we may leave even before then.  I will miss Cleveland’s rich cultural landscape, but as my hearing continues to slowly deteriorate, will likely not derive as much pleasure as I have from the Cleveland Orchestra or Playhouse Square over the past decades.  Nor is it likely we will move to Florida, even though I have family there – unless that state’s political landscape changes drastically for the better. 

The above opens a dilemma for me.  Where to live my last years?  A blue oasis in a deep red state is something I’ve experienced in Cleveland and likely would in Tampa.  Many blue states, on the other hand, are beyond my reach financially.  A relative of mine who is known neither for her wit nor her sagacity ranted that “liberals” are why California is so expensive to live in.  But the reality is that even in the most left-wing locations, including the West Coast, capitalism drives the market.  More and more, New Mexico is looking promising – there are suburbs of Santa Fe that are affordable, and the city offers the kind of cultural amenities usually seen in much larger metropolises.   

For those who believe I am obsessing over something that is over a decade away, planning for the future has always been a way to help me navigate through a difficult present. 

Meanwhile, I am using time alone to work on myself.  One such effort is to correct an issue that’s been unresolved since my teenage years: my teeth.  I never had braces even though I needed them.  In November, I began the process of correcting the issue via aligners.  There has been some minor discomfort, but this is both expected and manageable.

1968, a traumatic year, ended on a hopeful note with Apollo 8’s orbit of the moon, allowing humans their first opportunity to see their planet as one organism.  

2020 is ending with vaccines against COVID-19 that appear to be over 90% affective, and the disintegration of the Trump Administration, despite the disgraced soon to be ex-President’s attempts at a coup.  But the more things change, the more they stay the same.  It seems inevitable that our societal divisions, driven by gun zealotry, religious fundamentalism, and Randian Objectivism, will continue.  

I hope the lessons of 2020 will not be forgotten.

Driving with your favorite music (or podcasts)

I’ve enjoyed several longer road trips over the years, including to New England and Ontario, down the East Coast to Florida, and as far west as central Illinois.  I’ve not yet undertaken a road trip to the West Coast, but if I did, I would be sure to have my music with me.  FM radio has limited range, and it’s my luck to lose reception just as the program gets interesting.  AM radio is mostly devoted to screaming talk meisters and not interesting to me.  For a while, I dabbled in SiriusXM, but found that the audio quality was unacceptable for most music, the service was undependable in mountainous areas, and the cost exorbitant.  So, I mostly listened to music on my car’s CD player.  Remember those? 

Back in 1986, I shelled out over $300 for my first CD player (an exorbitant price for a recent high school graduate working an entry level retail job).  CD players and the discs themselves became less expensive over time.  I still have my very first CD, RCA Red Seal RCD14585 – Horowitz at the Met, and it still plays fine.  To that I’ve added about 4,500 discs over the decades – mostly Classical, along with Film and TV scores, a bit of Jazz, Pop, and Spoken Word.  The vast majority of these discs continue to play just as well as when they were new, so despite the constant drone of news about the death of the CD format, I have no plans to discard them – despite periodic culls from my collection. 

But though I am a stubborn luddite, I am faced with the fact that new cars don’t have CD players as standard equipment or even an option.  Newer cars do, however, have USB ports.  That, plus the hazard of trying to change a CD while driving, has led me to rip about a thousand of my favorite albums to my laptop.  These, in addition to the few dozen albums I purchased as audio files and never had on CD, I’ve copied onto one of three thumb drives (one each for piano music, one for non-piano instrumental/orchestral/chamber/opera, one for non-Classical) that I take with me in the car.  (At this point, some would also point out apps like Pandora and Spotify one can use in the car, but they are dependent on having a clear signal – and they are notoriously unfriendly for Classical music.)  

At this point, I should mention that I am not particularly hung up on audio quality when listening in the car.  I don’t drive a high-end automobile – my spouse and I are Honda loyalists – one CR-V and one HR-V.  There is a certain amount of road noise that makes information heavy formats like FLAC a waste of thumb drive space.  I go with MP3s and find they are adequate for use in the car. 

I use a Dell laptop, so when I rip the CD I use Windows Media Player.  Usually the track and album information (known as metadata) auto-populate.  Sometimes the provided metadata will contain mistakes or anomalies: Chopin albums described as Early Music, titles questionably spelled, occasionally with Japanese characters.  I usually correct these before I tick on the “rip” indicator – it’s faster fixing up front than addressing later.  

If you don’t verify and correct the metadata in advance, it can be changed later.  Here’s how to do so:

MP3 titles are shown in two places: the file name and the title within Properties.  To open Properties, right-click on the file name, select Properties, and the box will appear.  Select the Details tab and enter the appropriate information into the available fields.  When adding/modifying the track title, consider the character limit.  I noticed this early on when one of my files neither played nor was viewable in the track list: “03 Sonata for piano in B-flat major, D. 960: III. Scherzo: Allegro vivace con delicatezza – Trio”.  I shortened the file name to read “03 Sonata in B-b major, D.960: III”, copied it over to the title field within Properties, and that did the trick.  That’s all the title information I need and considering the way track info is displayed on my car’s audio display, this format made the most sense.  (Subsequently I determined that for me, Schubert’s heavenly last sonata is not the best music for driving, considering road noise and the need to stay alert.)

Track/file names are automatically numbered: starting with 01, 02, et cetera.  If you’re fine with the tracks playing in the same sequence as on the CD, you don’t need to change it.  If you want to change the order, simply right-click on the file, select “rename”, and change the leading numbers on the file names to create the playing sequence you prefer.    The files in an album will be played in this order, unless they were changed in a different order.  Thus, if you modify a file, it will be moved to the end of the track list.  You can restore the desired order by opening Properties, clicking Select All, changing some random information (like album artist or album title), and applying the change – you can always change the info back if you don’t like it.  (Changing the track number via the “#” field in the Properties box will not work, as I learned the hard way.)

WMP will usually create a folder for the album artist/performer when you rip the CD, and you can organize those as you please.  The default for organizing performers is first name, then last name.  I rename these folders to show last name, first name for ease of indexing. 

The first time I played music from my thumb drive, I was surprised to see the album cover on my car’s display.  Some albums showed the correct art, some had none, and some had the wrong art – e.g., from other albums including other performers’ recordings of the same music.  This can be overridden, although it can be time consuming.  If you have the CD and a printer, scan the cover to your computer, and edit the scan to remove excess border and correct other issues.  It may be easier to find a copy of the cover online, so I generally try that first.  Once done, open the photo, right-click and select “copy”, then manually paste it onto the album in WMP – voila, your album will display the correct art. 

Now I’m ready for a nice long drive.  Where to go?

 

Wilhelm Kempff on Deutsche Grammophon

Deutsche Grammophon has issued an extensive, but by no means complete, edition of pianist Wilhelm Kempff's recordings with that label and Decca - a trove of recordings made from 1920-1980.  Click here to read my review.

 

George Szell Complete Angel/EMI/Warner recordings

Warner Classics, formerly known as EMI and before that Angel, has released a 14 CD boxed set of George Szell's recordings with that label.  Click here to read my review.  

Rudolf Serkin on Deutsche Grammophon

Pianist Rudolf Serkin's final recordings were made on Deutsche Grammophon, which have recently been reissued in a nine-CD set.  Click here to read my review. 

Kempff - the missing eight bars

 I received Deutsche Grammophon's new Wilhelm Kempff edition this week.  Although I have many Kempff recordings, I bought this set to get the chamber music and mono Beethoven Sonatas set, along with the 78rpm recordings in one convenient package.

While listening, I stumbled onto something rather startling: eight bars are missing from the coda of the 1951 Beethoven Appassionata.  Those who know the piece will immediately recognize what's missing below. 

Schubert and Křenek for the pandemic

 The Cleveland Orchestra has released another recording on their own label, which includes Schubert's "Great" C major Symphony and Křenek's Static and Ecstatic.  Click here to read my review. 

Lea Singer's "The Piano Student"

Lea Singer’s “The Piano Student” tells, in a convoluted way, the story of Vladimir Horowitz’s two-year affair with his first pupil, Nico Kaufmann.  Despite cries of foul from some of Horowitz’s more idolatrous and provincial admirers, there is considerable evidence the affair took place, and given that all the main characters are dead and left no descendants, there’s no real harm in revealing it.

Click here to read my review. 

Kaufman (l) with Horowitz, c.1938

Horowitz in Gstaad, summer 1938.

Kaufmann in Gstaad, summer 1938.

Sergei Babayan plays Rachmaninoff

Eleven years after it was recorded, Deutsche Grammophon has released a very fine album of Rachmaninoff solo works as played by Sergei Babayan.  Click here to read my review. 

40 hours in Springfield

Which Springfield?  Why, Illinois, of course.  Land of Lincoln.

After six months at home, with a planned trip to Puerto Vallarta long since cancelled, Dan & I needed to get out of the house and out of town.  Options for travelling are limited these days.  International travel is nigh-well out.  Same with plane travel.  As much as I’d like to visit family, most are in Florida - not somewhere I care to visit in the era of COVID nor especially in summer.  Dan & I also have family on the West Coast – too far to go by car.  Niagara Falls?  The border with Canada is closed and we’ve already been there anyway.  Cape Cod is enticing but requires planning and reservations well in advance. 

Limited by our allowed time off and a trip of no more than one day by car, where to go?

With an eye on experiencing Americana at the time when America is at risk of being lost, we decided on Springfield, Illinois - an eight-hour drive away.  Springfield would allow us a change of scenery within the restrictions of a socially distanced Labor Day weekend. 

We left Saturday morning.  Thanks to a friend’s recommendation of the Waze app, I was able to avoid both toll roads and run-ins with State troopers – who were out in force in the western part of Ohio and throughout Indiana.  By Saturday afternoon, we were in Springfield, checked in at the hotel, and Dan & I were walking in the four block square which preserves Lincoln’s home and neighborhood much as it was when he was alive.  

                                                                    Lincoln home 

Downtown Springfield is laid out in an easily learnable grid pattern and is highly walkable.  Streets running north/south are numbered and those running east/west are named – most are one-way.   Though many places were closed due to COVID and the holiday weekend we found a lovely Italian restaurant on 6^th Street – formerly a part of Route 66.  After dinner, we walked around the Old State Capitol and found an impromptu small scale music fest. 

Dan with one of the many statues near the Old Capitol

A small gathering

I generally don’t sleep well after a long day of driving, and Saturday night was no exception.  I didn’t much mind, as I could take in the view from our hotel room window and hear the trains passing by.  I remembered that despite the raging war, Lincoln insisted that the major infrastructure project of his time go forward during his Presidency: the Transcontinental Railroad.  The night gave way to Sunday morning, the start of our Lincoln Day. 

Early morning view from our hotel

More statues near the museum

Lincoln's words still relevant today.

Despite being dedicated to a man who died in 1865 – and of whom there are no living descendants – the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum, dedicated in 2005, is a thoroughly modern experience.  This is beneficial because, unlike the Franklin Roosevelt or Harry Truman libraries, there are relatively few surviving artifacts from Lincoln’s tenure in the White House.   Most of what one sees, therefore, are recreations of Lincoln’s boyhood cabin, his courtship of Mary Todd, the Lincoln/Douglas debates, the Presidency, slavery in America, the Civil War, assassination and funeral, with a postscript on the Lincoln family after Abraham died.  Only one son, Robert, lived to old age – dying in 1926, four years after he attended the opening of the Lincoln Memorial.  Robert was responsible for overseeing the family legacy after his parents’ deaths – and sadly he destroyed most of his mother’s correspondence after having her committed to an insane asylum.  Much has been said of Mary Todd Lincoln’s “madness”, but wouldn’t anyone who had lost three of four children and witnessed her husband’s murder take refuge in eccentric behavior and rituals?  The museum puts much of this in perspective in two introductory films that wipe away the miasmic cobwebs that obscured Lincoln’s legacy for over a century after his death. 

 

The museum was a few blocks’ walk from our hotel.  But Lincoln’s Tomb required a drive to Oak Ridge Cemetery.  Mary Todd Lincoln insisted on the site, at the top of a peaceful hill, for Lincoln’s burial.  The tomb took several years to build and had to be renovated several times – not least because of attempts to steal Lincoln’s corpse.  Rumors of theft became so pronounced that, when the President’s remains were permanently interred in 1901, his casket was opened once again just to be certain he was still there.  (He was, and his body had been so thoroughly embalmed his face was easily recognizable.)    

While waiting for our tour guide, we saw a family of yokels carrying on like idiots while the father read parts of the Gettysburg Address in a mocking tone.  The accent was Southern and no doubt they were resentful descendants of Confederates.  Why they would visit Lincoln’s Tomb only to disrespect it is beyond rational thought. 

It was now afternoon, and since we had time to spare, drove south of Springfield taking in sites near the old Route 66.  Truth be told, there was not much to see beyond farmland, some run-down shopping strips, and the White Oaks Mall.  There was also a drive-in theatre, which was not open Sunday. 

Labor Day was the drive home during which we were delayed by a deluge of rain north of Columbus.  It was a trying drive but we were glad to be home.

 

Alexis Weissenberg on DG

Deutsche Grammophon reissued their complete recordings with pianist Alexis Weissenberg in 2016.  I've finally gotten around to reviewing it here. 

Mason: 2008-2020

Mason adopting a regal pose - 2016

Mason, our dog, has passed away.  A chapter closes on the best pet I ever had or could hope to have. 

Born in September of 2008, Mason was a happy accident, one of a litter of seven - the result of a dog getting away from her owner while she was in heat.  We never tested his DNA, but by physical features and temperament, he appeared to be a Retriever/Collie mix.  We adopted him in November of that year, and Daniel held him as Mason whined all the way to his, and our, new home.  We put the tiny puppy on a pet bed we had just purchased, and he was quickly napping – exhausted from the trip.  The day after we adopted him, I playfully rested my head on Mason’s bed, and he used his tiny paw to push my head off – this was now his bed.  

Yes, Mason was assertive at times, and not always calmly submissive.  But his assertiveness always had a purpose: whether reminding me it was time to wake up, time for his walk, or reminding others that when I had the floor, they should not interrupt (he would silence them by mounting the offender’s leg).  Mason was very strong: when he was about a year old, he spotted a rabbit in the yard and took off after it, nearly pulling my arm out of its socket as his running snapped his leash in half.  But with time Mason became highly disciplined: accidents were exceedingly rare – he had an iron bladder and was housetrained within a few weeks.  And he was always on the alert to warn us of nearby deer or the postal carrier.  Mason learned the standard repertoire of tricks: sitting on command, laying down, grabbing treats from my mouth, staying in place until he was released by a snap of my fingers, and shaking my hand.  He never mastered rolling over, but made up for it by being able to chase his tail on command.  Mason was sharper than any dog I’ve ever known: He assimilated to the rhythms of our day within a few weeks and knew how to read my every mood.  Every morning, he would race down the stairs to the kitchen and would happily sniff the aroma of brewing coffee.  After his morning walk, he would go to his downstairs “spot” and await his breakfast treat.   As time for work approached, he would bark to remind us not to be late.  When I got home, he would stand in the kitchen while I was three steps below in the back hallway, he would then jump up, place his paws on my shoulders, and greet me with a hug.  I would offer him a dog biscuit, which he would take out of my mouth.  Then he would patiently await dinner.  He would not touch his dinner until we had eaten, not even when it was waiting in his bowl – and he never begged us for food but willingly took any morsels we offered.  He figured out when TV programs and films were finished, and would get up and remind us that it was time for his evening walk.  Just before bedtime, I would give him a final treat.  Then he would walk the perimeter of the first floor, checking the windows for intruders, bound upstairs, and hop into bed.    

Mason also knew when things were off kilter.  In 2009, I had a bad flu and spent several days in bed.  Mason stayed in bed with me, often sitting up and watching me carefully.  Around that time, I cut my finger and, seeing it, Mason held it in place with one paw while applying healing saliva.  Eight years later, as I recovered from hernia surgery, Mason was careful not to pull on the leash when I took him outside. 

As recently as early Spring of this year, Mason was consistently rambunctious and engaged.  Even a few months ago, people would see him while on his twice daily constitutional and ask “Is he a puppy?”  They would be amazed when I told them Mason was a senior dog.  Then I began to notice changes.  He seemed uninterested in the deer or rabbits that occasionally grace our yard, and even ignored them during his walks, but would still pull on the leash and bark when encountering an unauthorized dog or his worst enemy: skateboarders.  Then, about a month before he passed, he would no longer jump up to grab a waiting treat from my mouth, began to have trouble with the stairs, and I noticed his gait became awkward.  I chalked these things up to age.  But when he forgot his repertoire of tricks, didn’t respond to ordinary commands like “come”, and seemed to not recognize me, I knew the end was near.   In the last week he lost his appetite and began to have accidents – which had never been a problem before.  Soon he had to be helped outside.  When he stopped accepting water, we used a dropper to keep him hydrated.  On Mason’s last day and night, we lay on the floor with him, comforting him as best we could as his breathing grew shallow and his eyes glassy.  We did not want to prolong his suffering, so we contacted an at-home euthanasia service.  I mention these facts not in grief, but with gratitude that Mason’s decline was so quick.  Would that we were all so lucky.

In our mourning, Dan and I remember that Mason had a fuller life than most canines.  He travelled extensively: from Vermont in the northeast all the way down to the Gulf Coast of Florida; he partook of dog friendly towns like Savannah, Georgia; visited several outdoor memorials in Washington, DC;  Mason walked the sand dunes of Indiana, rode through Chicago, and went as far west as Waukesha, Wisconsin.  He made many friends along the way, canine and human.   My one regret is that he never met my father, a fellow dog lover.  But they conferenced on Skype several times before my dad died in 2016. 

For all but the first two weeks after we moved into our home, we shared it with Mason.  The house seems awfully empty without him.  No doubt, we will eventually adopt a new puppy – and if he’s half as wonderful as Mason was, we will be doubly blessed.  But Mason will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Our first picture of Mason, aged eight weeks.

Mason about to remind me that I was on his bed.

From an early age Mason was always up for a cuddle or a kiss.

But he liked his time in the yard too - especially in snow.

Trying to pose for 2008 Christmas photos.

Christmas day, 2008

May, 2009

Playing with a friend at South Euclid's dog park. 

Christmas day, 2010.

Dan & Mason in Burlington, VT - 2012

At the entrance to the FDR Memorial - 2013

In the FDR Memorial's 3rd Term room - Mason tried to sniff Fala statue's butt.

At the Martin Luther King Memorial.

Mason playing tug o' War, 2015 - he won.

By 2019 Mason had taken on a wizened appearance.

At Minooka Park, Waukesha, WI.

At Indiana Dunes National Park, early 2020.

As recently as June of 2020, Mason was eager to adopt a dignified pose.

Life During COVID-19

 

In my 53 years, I have witnessed the advent of AIDS, the explosion of the Space Shuttle Challenger, the end of the Cold War, three major recessions, and 9/11.  Along with those momentous events, the COVID-19 pandemic will be remembered as a defining moment.   For those of us who will have grandchildren (I won’t), it will doubtless become the subject of “where were you when” questions.

COVID has received virtually non-stop coverage on the news.  Even though it has brought a lot of personal inconvenience, including having to cancel a planned vacation in Mexico, I have been fortunate, so far, in that there have been no COVID related deaths in my immediate family – although so-far three friends of mine have lost family members to the pandemic.  

My spouse Daniel was doing contract work out of state which ended in March.  We mutually decided he should cool his heels before seeking another job – which is in health care and entails increased risk.  So there has been some reduction of income but we’ve been able to weather it.   

To the best of my ability, I do my part to prevent the further spread of COVID:  I consolidate my shopping trips, wear a mask in public, avoid high risk areas – particularly bars, and per my employer’s mandate, have been working from home since late-March. 

During my first few weeks working at home, I felt rather lost.  In time, I learned that replicating my normal work routine as closely as possible brought structure to my day.  Waking around 6:30, I have coffee, walk the dog, then catch the news until 7:20.  Then I shower, shave, and dress – more casually than for onsite work, but usually with a work-branded shirt to remind myself I’m on company time.

One of my many Progressive shirts.

Mason patiently awaiting the end of my work day.

Following the end of my work shift, I focus on home related tasks – which can range from house work, to yard work, to trimming my dog’s nails.  Since I am home virtually 24/7 (meaning the use of my car has dropped dramatically), I decided to move several home renovation projects to the front burner.  The first of these was having the roof fixed over the house’s extension.   

That done, I decided to address a dual issue with the house: the lack of proper back patio space, and with that the lack of a back entry area that could serve as a mud room – in particular the latter has been a problem especially during rainy or snowy weather as dirt and mud are tracked into the house.  The patio was completed two weeks ago – along with much needed tuck-pointing of the house’s chimney.  The additional area incentivized me to repair some old patio furniture I’ve kept stored in the garage for several years – nothing major, just two chairs and a small table.  So far, the two chairs have been “de-rusted”, cleaned, and painted.  The table, which has a marble top, will be more of a challenge.  But even though the table isn’t fully restored, it’s useable. 

The mud room is something I’ve been wanting to have done for several years – I first drafted preliminary plans and went over them with my father (a civil engineer) before he died in 2016.  (I also drew up plans for a smaller front foyer, but have decided to hold off on that for now.)  When you have a 78-year-old house and have no intention of moving, you tend to think long-term.  I expect work on the mud room to start in August.   

That will probably take care of home renovations for this year, and will be the last project that does not fall under the umbrella of maintenance.  But I will doubtless find other ways to keep myself busy until restrictions are lifted.

Peter Serkin - Complete RCA Album Collection

With COVID-19 putting the kibosh on public concerts, I am listening to more recordings than I have in many years.  Sony has released a 35CD set dedicated to pianist Peter Serkin, who unfortunately passed away as the set was being produced.  Click here to read my review.