And now something totally different to shift the subject:
My younger daughter with the cherubic face and the seraphic soprano sang yesterday in a concerto to the memory of W. A. Mozart.
When she started the bravura arias of "Exsultate, jubilate" my heart nearly stopped. This sweet voice, and Mozart's music full of playful sadness (this expression minted by myself brought me an "A" in musics at school)!
She even had a fan club with her: an entire row of former classmates and friends clapped hands and stamped their feet on the floor, and there even were some bravo calls heard. And this in a rural church! Unheard of before.
Since then I call her my dear sweet nightingale.
The felicitations of some listeners to the father I took not so much with pride but with gratitude for such a gifted daughter.