Yesterday I turned twenty-one. In the evening my uncle Pudel came, and we played games and talked in the living room; then we had cake (baked by Papa, of course) and other refreshments. Papa, Pudel and I also played trios, three from Haydn (in C, D, and G major, I think; perhaps even in that order) and the beginnings of two from Beethoven, where Pudel played the violin well whereas Papa and I were out at sea for most of the time (which was, in a way, fun too). Then there were three congratulatory phone calls, which also made me feel very cheerful.
Most unexpectedly, I came away from yesterday feeling far more optimistic about the future. My aunt raised the possibility of going to an American university in Berlin, or to an international university, and internet research revealed that while the former option is not feasible, the second is. Also, I'd already found several potential jobs, which are hardly intellectually challenging or what I want to do later on, but would at least enable me to travel, etc., and keep up my end of household expenses.
This morning the good mood and energy were still there. I read several paragraphs about soft and hard consonants in Russian (in the past few days I had already learnt the Russian alphabet); continued Margot Fonteyn's autobiography; listened to a short portion of Mozart's Zauberflöte; and took out Nicholas Nickleby hoping that I will read it.
Anyway, now I must go, because we're having a pancake breakfast (brunch?). (c:
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