There's a reason why I use every opportunity to go jogging. I mean, a reason beyond the fact that it makes me feel good and that it's my payback for all the endless library and classroom hours. And the reason is that my little 5km jogging track is downright beautiful. Every time I go running the beauty of it astonishes me.

The pinetrees are bent by the constant sea wind. The sea is a hundred meters to the right.

See! That's what I mean. :) I love these endless alleys.

With my dad after the concert. Tired and happy. And blessed.

Last few days I waited eagerly for a package to arrive from Paris. And this morning it was finally delivered to my door. Oh, it wasn't just any package, it was The Package - I don't think anything else could have made me jump for joy like this one did! A dear friend sent me a camera - now I'm a proud user of Nikon D-40 with two lenses, 18-55mm and 70-300mm. I knew I couldn't afford a camera myself but someone has heard the quiet wish in my heart. Another dream has come true.

This means that this blog will be flooded with photos soon.

Last week my mom reminded me about something I had completely forgotten - my maternal grandpa was a professional photographer. It was way back in the old days I don't know much about but I do know that he used to work in a photo studio. I went through mom's old photo boxes the other day and found a handful of studio shots of my mom and her siblings. Plus one Christmas card. Mom claims that postcards made of grandad's photos were manufactured and used nation wide, and that they often got Christmas cards from their friends and relatives with his photos. But apparently they've got lost somehow, at least my mom doesn't know where they are. So I've taken it as my summer mission to find out what happened to my grandad's photos - there's a good chance they might have been given to some museum. Maybe, just maybe I can find them and take a look at them and pay tribute to my grandad whom I barely remember. It's like a whole chapter of family history has suddenly become alive to me.

And I really-really hope there's still a drop of his blood in my veins. 

I'm sure everyone knows the feeling when you promise to do something or when you say yes to something just because it seems so far away. And then when the time comes, you're like, what on earth was I thinking? Well, I'm exactly in this situation now. Months ago - far from Estonia and this life here - I let my parents talk me into playing the violin at a concert. Oh, why not, I thought, I have done that before. I didn't quite realise that we were talking about an opening concert of Pärnu's organ festival in the biggest church around here. It's actually a big deal. My dad was offered such an opportunity and he thought I could help him a bit with my violin. He's a bad *** organist, by the way.

Well, the concert is tomorrow evening.

Yesterday evening, after being sick for a good number of days, I went for a walk at the seaside again. I passed the town's notice board (or whatever it's called - it's where all the posters of upcoming events are) and I saw a huge poster of Pärnu's organ festival. They have one concert every week for the whole summer. Opening concert - M. K. (violin), R. K. (organ). WHAT? I thought I could just play my two Bach pieces really quietly, without any public knowledge of my existence. I guess I was wrong.

My mom has been calling her family and it seems to me that a whole bunch of friends and relatives are coming to Pärnu tomorrow for the concert. Including my aunt. Who's a violin teacher.

It's going to be humiliating.

But the cool thing about it is that I get to assist my dad when he plays the organ. I will probably get terribly nervous because I need to push all these right buttons at the right time but it's still awesome to be so close to the magic of music. And I'll spoil it for you - the concert will end with Bach's most famous Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. I'll probably start crying in the end of that piece. Bach's music is the most divine of all the music out there, nothing and no-one can beat him, at least for me.

But someone must go practice her violin now.

Every blog needs some structure. One can't let it go all random. So I've decided that every Tuesday I'll post a song here. It's called Tuesday's Tune.

Today's tune simply has to be Morcheeba's version of Gershwin's Summertime. First, because Morcheeba's voice is beautiful, second, because I've never heard anyone play flute like this, and third, because it's 25'C outside, it's hot, moist, and I can hear the thunder approaching. It's time for summer songs!

PS. Mind the pictures in that video, phahaha!

             Hanging out with my friends.

Weird things happen.

I've always thought I'm good at passing judgement when it comes to my own doings and achievements. Thinking that I'm able to evaluate my stuff objectively, including academic stuff. Uhmm, wrong. Sometimes I really have no clue about how I'm doing. The first signs of this strange phenomenon emerged sometime last semester. It must have been in October when I started writing my dissertation and J. came to work in the library for a few weeks and I remember how every time I needed a break from my writing I went downstairs and cried on his shoulder (figuratively, that is) and came up with a whole book of lamentations about how Dr V. is going to shoot me and make me write it all over again and so on. Well, the feedback I got from Dr V. was... rather different from what I was expecting.

And the same weird thing has happened again with one of my essays from last semester. It was the last paper I wrote and I was tired by the time I got to that paper, to say the least. And honestly, I was aiming for a pass. I swear. I didn't want anything else but to get this paper done. But when I asked the department secretary for my grades last week, she told me I had got 70+ for that paper. WHAT? First I thought that she had made a mistake and wrote accidentally number 7 instead of 5. But then the same grade appeared in e:Vision a few days later. WHAT WHAT?

Now I have a new theory. Somewhere in Turnitin there must be a little hairy creature who every now and then has mercy on stressed students (especially on those who have to teach Greek at the same time) and who writes new essays for them and submits them and lets them get an undeserved 70+ for a paper they've barely had time to work on.

This is by far the most plausible explanation I can come up with.

Now I'm working on the Dr V. thingy. There must be an explanation, too.