morbid noises in a lovely room

my Dad and step-mom's conservatory in Lakewood, Wa.

I've just been practicing in this beautiful little glass room at my Dad and step-mom Theresa's house. While I am here visiting, a friend of Dad's named Bob was nice enough to loan me his bass, on the condition that we replaced its snapped G-string. Dad, Bob, and another friend named Mike meet regularly to jam in what they call their "hootenannies".

As nice as it is to have a bass to play, it's sort of wretched to listen to. We went to Hammond Ashley yesterday and got a nice Helicore G-string - the problem now is the big, dead gut D-string next to it, which produces a sound something like a small rodent being strangled to death. So my rendition of the 'Arpeggione' sonata suggests a melancholy baritone, lamenting his unhappiness while violently asphyxiating a squirrel. The view of the golf course is very pleasant, though.