The flu bug was back today, so i took a nap, then read the New Yorker. I learned that Johann Sebastian Bach lost both of his parents when he was nine and watched ten of his children die young. I can't imagine having ten children. I can't imagine watching ten children die, any ten children, but especially not my own. When I read 19th century novels, I am surprised how many people die young and quickly. We expect to live a long time. We certainly expect our children to survive us and it is rare when they don't.
It is cold today, windy, a good day to envision myself in different time periods and life spans, and to be grateful for this one, which may not be inspiring me to create great music for the ages, but feels just right for a happy to be ordinary me.
