Now that the dust has settled in my trail, I can reveal that I am in exotic New Jersey. It's like nearly summertime temperatures here, whereas New Hampshire is firmly in spring (33 degrees overnight is not summer). The downside is the accompanying NJ humidity that poofs hair. NH's best feature is the near lack of humidity. They should play that up in the tourist brochures.
My main reason for heading southward was to play in my orchestra concert. My double bass was horribly out of tune and dusty from the 10 months of neglect. My fingers had sloughed off their callouses? and survived two attacks (bicycle/pavement and knives). But the fingers know where to move to hit the notes. They don't forget--why would they want to? And fortunately, fingers and I had played all the music before. We played "Hoe Down" from Copland's Rodeo (who is a fascinating subject for another time), Tchaikovsky cello and orchestra thing (I wasn't really paying attention because all eyes were on the cello soloist), and said Russian composer's Fifth Symphony. It's a hard piece that kills the fingers and the arm by the end. Perhaps it's more enjoyable from the other side of the conductor. I'm rarely in that world.
