On Friday, a stale smell in the mudroom eventually led me to the water heater, where it appeared that the flue was producing excess condensation. By Saturday morning, it was clear that, no, the flue was fine, but the water heater was leaking… from the top. A permit, a sum of money, and a Monday later, the odor is gone. So, too, are most of my hang-ups about playing my flute in front of non-family members, apparently: Mornings are the best and most convenient time to practice, so while the new water heater was being installed, I worked on my lesson material and concert band pieces.

What I haven’t worked on in quite some time, though, is writing about what I’m reading. My afternoons during spring break later this month may afford me the time to catch up on that. In the meantime, I hope to post my commonplace book entry on Diana Athill’s memoir, Instead of a Letter.

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