Now Playing: Blavet, Vivaldi, and Bach.

Today.

At half seven, Mrs. S came to take Rachel and me to breakfast at Panera. We met Mrs. P there: she's one of Rachel's good friends from Grace Bible Church, an older woman. Panera was crowded at breakfast, of course. The four of us sat at a small high table in a corner by a window. The ladies were very kind and friendly.

After, Mrs. S dropped me off at the apartment, taking Rachel on to her class in Chapman at half nine. I finished my devotions, sitting in a patch of sunshine. I love noticing the way the light falls differently in different seasons. On winter afternoons, the sunshine slanted through the south-facing window, making an oblong behind my desk. On spring mornings, it slants from the north, long over the blue armchair.

The verse today: "Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart." God has planted gladness for me, even if I do not reap the fruit yet.

I walked to Tyrrell to practice before HON at eleven o'clock. As I walked to HON, I stared at the day. Glorious day, peerless sunshine, blue skies. In HON today, we discussed the crisis in Darfur and whether the U.S. should be involved. I picked up a salad in the food court, then drove to Woodward Park to meet Tara for lunch. Lunchtime traffic around Utica Square was heavy, so it wasn't until nearly one o'clock that I got to the park.

The park was a little bit crowded. Tara had spread herself out on the lawn near the rose gardens. The roses aren't blooming yet, though the dogwoods and azaleas on the hillside facing 21st Street are making a luscious display of red, magenta, and white against the dark oak trees. Tara and I ate our lunches in the warm sunshine. We watched people walking dogs, notably a pair of very cheerful beagles and an enormous imperturbable Husky, behind us.

I left at about a quarter to two in order to meet Dr. E at two o'clock for another independent study. Then I practiced for another hour in Tyrrell, playing through the pieces slowly with the metronome. That helped ease the nerves a little. All day long I'd been telling myself to relax, relax, relax. As I stepped out of Tyrrell, the sunshine engulfed me. I flopped down on the U, firm cool grass under my back, and spread my arms out to the sunshine.

As I lay there, Jenny M. joined me. Rachel joined us, and then Hannah came strolling insouciantly across the grass. The four of us sprawled together in the sunshine. Conversation trailed off into comfortable silence. We all just lay there in the sunshine on our stomachs, listening to cardinals singing around campus.

Jenny went to choir at five o'clock. At half five, Hannah went to work. Then Rachel and I went back to the apartment. We opened all the windows. I washed dishes, then made a sandwich for myself for tea, and wrote e-mails.

I left for Tyrrell at ten to seven. I felt small and incongruous: pink brocade dress, flip-flops, and enormous black backpack. At Tyrrell, Professor R had already set up the stage. Michele joined us. We ran through a few spots in some of the pieces, getting used to the hall again and to the rhythms. Now that the time had finally come, I was actually not as nervous as I'd expected. Not paralyzed, anyway. My parents and Stephen arrived. I stepped outside with my mother. Abby was perched on the stone steps outside Tyrrell, watching Annabelle running over the grass, collecting sweet gum balls. Rachel Jr. and Nicole showed up, then Stephen N., then the Hs. I stood outside joking around with them for awhile.

Finally I went indoors, slipped into the cool musty recital hall and into the strange space backstage. All sorts of odds and ends are stored back there, and the ventilation system makes weird noises. I sat on an old wooden chair under a partially-boarded window and was quiet.

Michele came backstage. Took a few minutes to breathe--the dress restricts that a little--before we went onstage. There were perhaps twenty-five people present, mostly from RUF. And so we launched into the recital. The Blavet was a wee bit stunted. Not too dreadful, but not perfect. I was glad when it was over. All those repeats make me nervous. Michele and I went backstage, I shook out my tight muscles, she took a drink, and then we went back on again for the Vivaldi. Joy and delight. Then, at last, came the Bach. It's a weighty ordeal, like trying to muster a cathedral out of a flute and a keyboard. It went off fairly well. We bowed, then went backstage, so I went on again, and bowed, and everyone stood and applauded, which made me very happy.

After the recital was over, I went down to say hello to everyone. Even Dr. S was there. Everyone was so kind. My mother had brought fruit and cake, which everyone enjoyed in the hallway afterward. Stood around chatting. Crystal approved of my outfit; Annabelle kept running up to give me hugs. Abby laughed that she had heard the word "Princess" several times during the evening. Gradually people began to leave. RUF was at nine o'clock. Philip and I stayed with my family, cleared away the leftover food, chatted. Then we said good-night. They left. Philip went to an ultimate frisbee game.

I walked back to my apartment with the strange sense of pointlessness that comes after a performance of any sort. I changed clothes, then walked to RUF. Marc was just starting his sermon. Last RUF.

Afterward, I put things away in the apartment. Rachel and I chatted for a wee while about the recital and her mother's visit. Then I settled down to write this. The windows are open. Chilly evening air seeps through the screen. And noises, noises, noises. Cars driving through the car park; an Iranian chap on his mobile phone; people talking. The train whistles blowing, as they always do at night. Emergency sirens. The buzz of air conditioners. I'm tired.