This morning, while the Irish priest talked about St. Patrick’s day, the Russian organist asked if I’d play Mozart and Handel in a couple weeks at a Haitian church on the other side of the park. “They sing like they mean it,” he tells me. “And the congregation, they yell and cheer. You feel like rock star. You will do it?” Will I? Hell, yes. “You have friends who play maybe violin or cello or guitar?” Guitar? This will be an interesting concert. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
And in other news of intercultural contact, I will be the one in the Brooklyn St. Patrick’s Day parade wearing black. And for once, I’m thinking I won’t be the only one.