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That's a beautiful essay, Robin, and I agree with you that apple* would have appreciated it. She struck me as a woman who learned early on what the important priorities in life are, and she packed more joy in her short life than many people pack into 100 years.

As a mom of a high school junior, I was particularly touched by your story about your son's graduation. What lies ahead for him?

p.s. I gotta say that hearing your ankle woes makes me feel better about my insistence on wearing comfortable--but ugly--flat-soled walking sandals rather than heels.

Wear the good shoes, you'll never regret it. I am convinced a combination of high heels and sustain pedal caused my problem. I can't live without the sustain pedal, but I can indeed live without the heels.

My son is at university, studying International Business with a focus on Marketing Management. He is still playing the piano like crazy, but doesn't want to have music as a career. He knows too much about the downside of the music business, I think (the perils of having two musicians for parents).That said, he recently wrote a piece for me, which I recorded on Saturday—it's for my next release, in May of this year. We had a lot of fun at the studio.

I wonder what Apple's memorial service was like. I wonder if she selected the music ahead of time. I wonder how her family is coping. It is all just beyond sad. But you're right, Monica, she lived a very full life, and seemed to know instinctively which baskets to gather and how to fill them.

And I am certain she always wore perfect shoes.

I believe, in fact, that we have a picture right here of her red pumps, her favorite for pedaling the organ in her home (picture of that, too).

Indeed, she is one of those surprising, unforgettable, and very lovable people. No need for me to re-tell her stories, as she did a perfect job of it on her own, and they are just a few pages back.

I've been listening to Walter Kraft's renderings of Bach organ, thinking of her view from the loft. It seems that there is something about this thread that let her unfold, and reveal all sorts of things that I have found it good to think about.

Oh, I remember that photo! And I remember her writing about how important it was for her to wear the perfect shoes.

We had the first wedding of the year at the castle on Saturday! Keeping with the international theme of last year, we had an Egyptian/Libyan wedding. Lots of bright colors and beaded dresses lighting up the January gloom. They had solo saxophone playing for two hours, then I came and played solo for two hours during dinner.Easy.

At the baton passing, I asked the sax player how it went. "Perfectly," he said. "They didn't listen, but they didn't complain, either." Which is kind of the way my part of the evening went.

Anyway, I think it's a good sign that it's still January and we already have a wedding under our belts.

Tip: For those of you looking to book wedding gigs as solo pianists—if you're sitting at the piano (perhaps on your steady gig) when a future bride (and client) walks by, play anything at all from The Wonderful World of Amelie. In particular "Comptine d'un Autre Été, Apres Midi" seems to do the trick. I booked a September wedding last night with this piece and it occurred to me how often this has worked. Thank you, Yann Tiersen. Just hope the bride doesn't ask you for the title while you are playing—it's tough to spit out that title in French, especially if you're in the middle of the fast passage.

The dreaded Canon and the Gump theme also work, but not as well as the Amelie music.

Okay, here is a link to my newest essay. It's a bout weight loss and music. Sort of.

Don't Eat Pie

"...I remember her writing about how important it was for her to wear the perfect shoes..."

As the saying goes, "Accessories make the ensemble."

Or break it.

For good or ill, I have no news or observations about weddings (although my own parents were married in this winter month, and made it to forty-nine-and-a-fraction years). And who can say, that the full and silver moon, riding low in tonight's deeply sapphire sky --- along with evening weather mild enough to walk the dogs, at least, for a short one, in a t-shirt--- well, who can say that it won't bear its fruit among the marriage-minded. Why, Valentine's Day will be here in a minute, and Mardi Gras in less than that.

And the world was young again... and they started making reservations, with the energy only the young can bring to it. Hall, honeymoon, hairburner; preacher, pre-nup, photographer; videographer, vows; bride's dress, baker, catering company; musicians of course; gravure, engraver, and where did you register. I believe I overlooked tux, but the alliteration is not seemly. And, as Apple's example reminds us, the proper pumps--- all-important.

I am reading a very good biography of Brahms, while listening to an overview of his works, from solo piano, to organ, to trios, quartets, quintets, and full orchestra. But I already know how this story ends: with NO wedding; not for him, anyway. I suspect the prospect of supporting the late Robert Schumann's brood, on a musician's earnings--- young and scarcely-known as he was at that point--- scared the life out of him; anyway, it scared him away from marrying Clara. Not everyone has Robin's gift of making it work out so gracefully.

I think of you, Robin, steaming up the windows... of the kitchen, making soup in January, as you listen to your daughter play the piano in the next room, as you wrote a few seasons ago. It still seems to me like a nice way to spend January. So there we are: moonlight and dogs, soup and daughter, biography and playlist. And my final word on the subject is: Intermezzo in B-flat minor, Opus 117, No. 2. For in the end, words can get you so far and that's it.

Oh, please PLEASE tell me you're working on another memoir, Robin, and the VBI incident will be in it. That story was priceless.

What's particularly funny is that just this very morning, while at the Y, I saw a clip on CNN touting the benefits of "whole body vibration machines," which alleges to offer a "ten minute no work workout." The more things change, the more they stay the same... but at least we don't call women "foxy" any more.

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/us/2013/01/24/pkg-no-work-workout.wxia

Thanks, Monica! Somehow I knew that story had your name on it. We are children of the eighties. Or young adults of the eighties. What a time. They call those whole body vibration devices POWER PLATES over here, a name that's just asking for ridicule.

My husband reminded me the other day that the male counterpart of "foxy" is "hunky."

I am indeed working on another book, but it's a collection of fictional short stories about musicians. I'm having so much fun working on it! When that's finished I will write the third (and final) book in the Piano Girl series. By that time I will be able to call it Piano Geezer.

In the meantime, it's music central around here—I'm recording a new release for May, called Magnolia. My son wrote one of the tracks. Naturally, it's one of those pieces that's really hard to play but needs to sound effortless. That one is in the can, thank goodness, and the next session is on Thursday of this week. I did a photo session yesterday, which, for those of us in our fifties, is a little traumatic. There's only so much you can so with spackle. At this point I say, let's go with the wrinkles. I've earned them. We'll see what comes out of it.

Back at the castle, we're in a bit of a lull. This is Karneval month here in Cologne, which means lots of grown men in kangaroo suits, tutus, and fright wigs, marching in parades and drinking beer. At the castle we have a Karneval-free zone, which means we're a respite for those not quite up to donning an eye patch and a pirate costume. It also means that we don't have a lot of business, since Karneval is intensely popular here.

We did have a wedding yesterday, but it started at noon and by the time I got there the guests were slightly disheveled and doing that thing that drunks do when they're trying not to act drunk. I felt like the room was in slow motion.

Clef, when I read your post, I was indeed making soup for my daughter, who was, at that moment, playing the piano. Red lentil with roasted peppers and sun-dried tomatoes. It was a very, uh, red soup. Our kitchen, living room, dining room, and piano area are all in the same big space—so the piano is quite close to where I cook. Very convenient for chopping basil and throwing out (unwelcome) tidbits of advice.

Hey, if any of you readers live in this part of Germany, I am performing my Piano Girl program at Steinway Haus in Düsseldorf on February 21. All English program! You can read all about it here.

Robin Goldsby, Steinway, Düsseldorf

Hi Robin:

I just discovered thread. Very entertaining. It's nice to find another pianist-composer who's also a writer. Congrats on your books! I look forward to checking out this thread some more.

Best,

Chris Goslow

Welcome, Chris! We're a little whacky here on the "Let's Talk Weddings" thread, but we have a good time . . .

Lol. I think it's important to be able to have fun while talking about our careers... and while doing our careers. You seem to have quite a sense of humor and I think that's a good thing. Thanks for brightening my day.

No weddings this weekend at the castle. It's Karneval season and if I see a bride on the street it is likely to be a man in a poofy white dress. I saw a troop of nurses out there today in white mini skirts and they were all guys in drag. I also spotted a group of panda bears, several Smurfs, and George and Martha Washington, both of whom were guys. The fun won't end until Tuesday. The castle should be safe, though—it's a Karneval-free zone.

A little light reading for a winter day. Since we've had animal themes at various times in this thread (thank you, Clef) I thought some of you might enjoy my latest essay.

It's not all music all the time. Occasionally John and I have to contend with a household pest or two. Here's what happens when a couple of musicians take on an unidentified German critter.

Varmint on the Roof

Hope all of you are safe, sound, and looking forward to the spring thaw.

Gread story Robin! We have had critters on our roof, or under it... Every now and then pigeons would get in underneath the roof tiles and scitter about. Fortunately we were able to get all of them out and the entryways have now been netted off.... but it is a sound that still gives me the willies, just thinking about it.

Note: We did not serve pigeon cocktails.

"...“Well,” he says. “It has gray hair and pointy teeth and bloodshot beady eyes.”

“That could be anyone,” I say. “Or—”..."

There is rat poison. Passive-aggressive, but for once I can get along with it. Packaged into its own little plastic house, so nothing but a rat can get into it (well, maybe a squirrel). (Regrettable collateral damage, but war is heck.)

"But Your Honor, we didn't know it was a protected species until it was too late."

We had a roof rat, which made an incredible mess in the kitchen, and came lethally close to the piano. Then we had an exterminator, and now the house is hardened from crawl space to roof gable vents with extra-heavy-duty galvanized hardware cloth. The daughter who thinks invaders should be left unmolested will sing a different tune after she has to wash and sterilize (or throw away, and then re-purchase) every object in the kitchen, and scrub all the shelves and drawers with scalding-hot disinfectant--- and don't forget behind the stove. She can also pay the exterminator's bill, which is not cheap.

It is a convincer, for the most vegetarian among us. Once a girl loses her innocence about rats, mosquitoes, ticks, crab lice, termites, flies in the kitchen, flesh-eating bacteria, and the heartworms the dogs get if you don't prevent it... well, I'm just saying, there's a boundary.

February 10, 1840 – Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom marries Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha. Great-great-great-grandparents of the new heir-apparent, still in utero.

A little figleaf, lest we lose the thread altogether.

I enjoyed your story, Robin. The moral: let sleeping spouses lie. I certainly live by it myself.

What I do not like is the raccoons using our roof as their potty. They may look cute, but I keep away from them, since they can be dangerous. A former neighbor's mother lost a fingertip to one that came in the cat door.

For some reason we do not have raccoons in this part of Germany. But we evidently have everything else. While I was writing that essay the Green Acres theme song kept running through my brain—"I so adore a penthouse view—dahling I love you but give me Park Avenue."

Then again, in New York City there are many other pests, one hardly misses the weasels.

I've got my red dress ready to go for the annual castle VD Dinner on the 14th. I couldn't make it last year because I was on crutches and wearing a Frankenstein boot, but this year my pedal foot is healthy and ready to sustain away. I even have red shoes for the occasion.

Hopefully there will be a few marriage proposals to report.

You owe me a computer keyboard to replace the one I've just spluttered coffee over. The mention of other medical issues delayed my double-take!

Sorry about that, Wombat. Glad I made at least someone laugh.

Clef, the daughter in question has come to her senses. The weasel episode happened some years ago. She is older now and has snapped out of her pre-adolescent belief that all critters are our friends. This could have something to do with her being bitten by a pit bull last year. But that's another story for another time!

Oh boy, just booked a March wedding playing for a Princess from Dubai. There is bound to be a tale or two there.

Yet. I've seen them on the science shows. They've been spreading through Germany.

About 8 feet from my desk, or maybe about 2.5 meters for the European members, is a framed photo of me holding one of the dreaded Marders. Er, just looked it up. Singular is Marder, plural is also Marder. Go figure.

Most Americans who live in Germany long enough eventually have a car that won't start because a Marder ate the ignition wires, or won't stop because it ate the brake lines. But nobody I knew, American or German, had actually seen one. So when I found a reasonably intact road kill I took a photo. It became one of my hobbies. I now also have photos of myself holding a roadkill badger, fox, squirrel, shrew, snake, beaver, hedgehog, etc. I pick them up, get a picture, and put them back down so the nutrients return to the same ecosystem. When in Germany it's wise not to kill anything unnecessarily; the German anticruelty laws apply to all vertebrates, and the penalty is a two year prison term.