In which music was made, not just listened to.
Tonight was Stanford's annual singalong Messiah, held as usual in the reverberant and gaudily decorated quarters of its Memorial Church. As last year, B. went to play violin in the orchestra, while I went to sit with the phalanx of basses who occupy the opposite front. This time I sat in the front of the group, so I could hear them better than they could hear me. It worked out well, and with the support I could also determine which choral numbers I most need to practice before next year's sing.
But! That was not all. A local woman who plays the flute (and, occasionally, the cello, so she has one) was hosting her visiting nephew who is a more skilled cellist, so she went looking for a violinist and violist so they could have a session playing flute quartets together. A couple degrees of separation away was B., so we stopped by the house for some music-making and dinner before heading Messiahward. B. - who would have had her violin with her anyway - was the violinist, and I and the family dog were the audience. Chamber music is supposed to be played in a small room (hence the name) by friends, and this fit the description. They played Mozart's K. 285 and K. 298 and some other stuff. Maybe after B. retires she'll have time for more music-making of this sort.