Last Friday before Spain

I've noticed that the excitement leading up to a holiday often tips over into not wanting to go, and realize that I am currently approaching this point. It all seems like such an imposition; such a great effort seems to be required, out of proportion to the anticipated fun.

Why do I worry so much about such absurd things? Why do I anticipate being disappointed?

During the last few weeks I have listened often, usually late at night, to a CD that I bought a year ago and put aside as "too strange." About once a month I would play it, and each time I liked it a little better—which might be simply expressed as having understood it a little better. I have become fascinated by the work, and would love to experience a full eight-hour (!) overnight performance; for the meantime this double CD does well. (There's also a six-hour TV recording of a performance in the Temple Church, where the CD was recorded.) Today's Friday Favourite is a song from early in the cycle. It's not untypical of the whole, I particularly liked the interplay of the three bass voices with the choir. Crank this one up very loud indeed.

Shabbat shalom, my dears.