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Thanks to Ellen Tarlow who had an extra ticket and invited me, I went to BAM last night to see St. Matthew’s Passion. The minute I got home I looked for one of bass arias to download. If I’m remembering correctly, I think the words in english were “Come my heart and make me pure (so that I might bury Jesus).” I listened to a bunch of versions and picked a German one sung by Thomas Quasthoff. I think I’ve already played it a hundred times. The incredible tenderness of that desire — it’s almost painful to contemplate.

Here is yesterday’s review of the BAM show in the Times.

You have two more chances to see it. It’s thrilling. Don’t miss your chance.

People asked this question the entire time the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory was in existence. Except for those who already believe they have the answer, it’s kinda the question, isn’t it? You can argue that there are more pressing, immediate concerns, and I can’t argue with that, but when all is said and done, how can you not be curious?

The Rhine Research Center is taking on this question at a conference on May 5th and 6th. If you’re anyway near Durham, NC, you should go. (Excuse the cheesy photo, but I love a good cheesy ghost picture.)

My friend Chris sent me pictures of flowers she grew this Winter. Gorgeous! Although my eye also went right to that blue chair. I love that blue chair. I need to paint something that shade of blue.

The city is blossoming, too. I should get some pictures while I’m out and about today.

I went to Darien, CT last night to the Wee Burn Country Club to celebrate my cousin Debbie’s birthday. I have to say, I love all my cousins, and the people they married. Seriously. Every one of them is smart, interesting, nice, and fun to spend time with. I wish I had brought my camera so you could meet them all. I’m such an idiot. Plus, it was raining, then sleeting, and I discovered that the shoes I selected had holes in the bottom of each of them. That’s because I hate shopping. I buy something when I must and then, apparently, not again until they fall apart.

Oh, and when I went to my closet I could only find one thing that seemed appropriate, and I’m pretty sure I wore the EXACT same dress the last time I went to the Wee Burn Country Club two years ago when my last unmarried cousin got married. (I am now the only umarried cousin left.)

Here’s a picture of me three years ago when I bought this dress. I loved it so much I had to get a picture of me in it. Isn’t it a pretty spring dress?

Here is me in my dress now. My hair is long these days, and I wear it back. I still love this dress, I have to say. Sorry for the out-of-focus.

Thank god, that’s over. Let’s see what today has to offer.

Meanwhile, I took a picture of one of the places I used to live. I’ve lived three places in the last 30 years, all within blocks of each other. This is the first place I lived when I came back to New York from Boston — 230 West 11th Street. That’s in the village, which I’ve never left. I lived here in the top floor with my husband. Then I moved (alone) a few blocks down on the same street. Maybe I’ll take pictures of the other two places today. I loved this place though. It had a fireplace, a skylight in the bathroom, and wood floors with very wide planks. It had a country feel.

Oh, and we had access to a beautiful church garden. I should scan photos I took of that. I went nuts photographing that place. I was a photographer when I first started out as a working adult and that place was all wildflowers and overgrown, and not perfect and ordered and cultivated. It was enchanting.