“Time is a strange thing,” the Marschallin sings in what is really my favorite stretch of the whole opera, the monologue and duet that end the first act. My beloved got knocked down with the flu and pneumonia, so our household rhythm has been thrown off for a few weeks now. Between that and missing church 2 weeks in a row (once for caregiving previously-mentioned flu-sufferer, once for an all-day herbal studies class), I have no sense of what day it really is.
So really, you’re lucky to get a Marschallin Monday at all, much less on a Tuesday. Heut’ oder morgen oder den übernächsten Tag, indeed!
Fleming. Koch. Red.