Here at St. Anthony’s, life flows on in a more-or-less normal way, all things considered.

Fr. Bob and Marge continue to keep the community on our collective toes with their individual and collective quick wits. They moreover continue to keep the community in good cheer with their jokes of both the trombone-worthy and the non-trombone-worthy variety.

This may be the first time that the concept of a trombone-worthy joke has arisen in the Chronicle. Trombone-worthy jokes are those jokes that beg to be followed by a lazy “wah, wah, wahhhh” intoned on a lazy trombone. For quite some time now, I’ve thought that a trombone would be a good community investment. I’d like to follow Fr. Bob around the house with a trombone ever at the ready, for most of the trombone-worthy jokes are his.

In other news of our safer-at-home community: Tracy occupies his days by continuing to tweak our website in lovely ways; by working with Marge to keep our kitchen in good order; by pursuing his studies; and by making superb pizzas.

And I continue to chronicle the days for posterity.

This particular day was busy, but not hurried. I did a bit of dusting and vacuuming in the hallways and stairwells so that Jain and Jackie H don’t find themselves overwhelmed by a house in a sorry state when they return. I did a bit of grumbling about the few-and-far-between-ness of electrical outlets in our hallways. I did a bit of catching up on laundry, and I did a bit of cooking. (For those of you who have been wondering: I ate my way through the last of the two pounds of mushrooms on Monday of this week. Happily, I have not long been deprived of the marvelous mushroom – superfood extraordinaire! Patrick was kind enough to undertake an expedition to the grocery store on Tuesday, during which adventure he was able to obtain more mushrooms and other items on my shopping list, all of which he left on his porch for me to pick up, thereby ensuring that both of us could observe appropriate social distancing practices.)

I brought this day to a close by discovering that the 23rd measure of the first movement of Mozart’s piano Sonata in F still trips me up as badly as it did thirteen years ago, when I was paging through a book of Mozart sonatas that I’d had for years, but had never before looked at. I decided that the Sonata in F looked like the easiest one in the book and surely wouldn’t be all that difficult to learn. I seem to remember having played the song in public once upon a time, so I must have mostly mastered it at some point, but that was a lifetime ago. All I clearly remember from my first encounter with that song is that the 23rd measure always tripped me up. And still on this encounter with the song, that measure is the bane of my existence. It doesn’t matter how often I practice the 23rd measure in isolation, and it doesn’t matter how many times I manage to play it correctly in isolation: when I fly into measure 23 without pause from measure 22, my fingers completely forget what to do, either bringing the song to a screeching halt or derailing it for a few seconds while they sort themselves out. It never fails.

Given the amount of time that I can currently devote to practicing this song, I’d like to think that I’ll get that measure right one of these days. Perhaps.

In the meantime, I listen for inspiration to one more skilled than I! Perhaps you’d like to listen, too.

With humble gratitude for the gift of music and for all good gifts of this day…

Deo Gratias!