I sat in Boston Common recently, watching a watercolorist at work. In the distance, a saxophonist began playing. "Fantastic!" I thought, until he hit one jarringly erroneous note in the middle of Mendelssohn's Wedding March. I soon realized he had never before played the instrument in his life! He continued with the national anthem, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," and "Happy Birthday to You." I listened to him play each tear-wrenching song three times over before I gave up, trudging back to my apartment. Next time, I'll bring my iPod. That or a copy of "Saxophone for Dummies."
Mary Catherine Adams
Andover
Anywhere Else?
Last year, I attended a lecture at the Appalachian Mountain Club headquarters on Joy Street on Beacon Hill. After buying my ticket from a rather harried lady sitting at a table just inside the lecture hall, I asked if there was a men's room available. She motioned to a doorway across the room next to a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. "Over there," she said distractedly, "by the fire hydrant."
Richard Whiting
North Grafton
