Choir in Good Standing

Tonight's choir practice leaves us with only two remaining before our big day.  For the first time ever, our church will present an Easter Cantata.  The performance will take place on Palm Sunday because Easter Sunday is too packed with our Sonrise Service.  The fact that the cantata lasts forty-eight minutes without a break might also have something to do with the decision to sing a week early. 

When we choir members learned how long we would be singing in front of the church, some gingerly reminded our director of the advanced ages of most of us (she's fifty, we're not), stressing that such a long time to be on our feet might affect our "joyful noise."  Not to worry.  Those concerned can have stools behind them for resting.  As if anyone wants to be the first to plop.  In true Survivor tradition, no one will want to be the first to go, to be the worst at outstand, outsing, outlast.  Neither do we want to be Pelosi popcorn, if you remember her antics during Obama's State of the Union speech.  (She must have conditioned with a trampoline at home.) 

So . . . what to do.  Pray.  Choose some confortable shoes (I take mine off during practice but probably not a recommended action at the front of the church).  Remember not to lock our knees (Fainting can be a major interruptive distraction).  Pray.  I'll let you know how it all turns out.  Or you are certainly welcome to attend and see for yourself.

Early Spring Weekend

What a weekend! We ate at Neal's Friday night when they opened for the season, danced to Gary P. Nunn at House Pasture Saturday night, and celebrated a full church Sunday. Now the sun is coming out to start a week of spring weather. Life is good on the Frio! Hope your spot is showing some spring, too!

Romance

My Visa bill was due on Valentine’s Day. Where is the romance in that? I paid it early just to avoid thinking about it during Cupid’s time.

This year our celebration will be on February 13. Where is the romance in that unlucky number? Just because Saturday night is more convenient, dinner and wine will happen early.

I’ve already seen and read my card. Where is the romance in that? My card is actually “my” card because I don’t have the card in my possession. Spouse and I drove to Wal-Mart, went our separate ways in the greeting card section, selected a card for each other, presented and read them, kissed and hugged right there in the store, and then returned the cards to their places. Mine for him cost almost $5.00, but I didn’t look on the back of the one he selected for me because I didn’t want to be impolite. We plan to use the money we saved on a couple of glasses of wine when we go out tomorrow night. I’ll probably wear red, not only for Valentine’s but also because that’s the color of the wine I’ll drink.

Resting Christmas

Christmas is over, at least the part of having decorations inside the house. I’m not ready to remove the outside lights and wreaths and red bows, but in a few days I’ll pack those away, too. Once again my intentions were to consolidate and eliminate, streamline for future Christmases. But memories got in the way, and nostalgia ruled more often than not.

The main rooms of the house look bare, ready for a good cleaning tomorrow, prepared to start a new year. The next couple of days I will slowly ease some decorative elements back into place, a few old ones usurped by new ones or by even older ones shifting into rotation once again. I’m eager for the comfort of familiarity after the bustle of the holiday season. On the other hand, I do look forward to the day after next Thanksgiving to start Christmas all over again with every wonder.

Groceries Galore

How much food can two people eat? Husband and I have our gastronomical work cut out for us if there is any hope for all the groceries crammed into our refrigerators and freezers, especially all the fresh produce. I will focus on preparing and packaging; he will focus on devouring and delivering. Our intention is to share in any way we can, and I suspect that neighbors and family have similar intentions.

If I can end the year without another foray into stores, I will be a happily absent shopper. But inevitably some item will cross from the maybe list over to the must have list.
Such as grapefruit.

Breakfast Brie

With Christmas Day almost upon us, I’ve been thinking about the breakfast my daughter served us Thanksgiving morning, one where we could casually serve ourselves or just wait patiently while saving room for the big holiday meal. She baked a wheel of brie covered with a relish including cranberries, nuts, and brandy. Beside it was a plate of croissants, biscotti, and flat bread. A bit decadent, I know, but so delicious with lots of freshly ground coffee. Christmas morning here will be so busy in the kitchen that I'll probably put out some banana bread for just the two of us, but I’ll be thinking of the other breakfast.

Art Lesson

Yesterday morning my painting teacher became an impressionist. Just like that. At age eighty-eight. After decades of capturing nature realistically on canvas, she made the switch and unceremoniously announced it to the class. In recent years, pride prolonged her efforts to paint in ways she enjoyed most, but gradually her failing eyesight pushed her to make choices. Her decision was to resurrect herself, a phoenix rising. And so she painted her first work in a new life and artistic phase, one where she can still control the composition but use colors and light and details the way her eyes now see them.

Any of us who ever thought of morphing into something new and different can’t help but applaud what she is attempting to do. At an advanced age, she is confident that going down this fresh path is the right move. If her work at the easel today is any indication, I can’t wait to see more results.

Her signature mark has always been a pair of cardinals placed somewhere in the painting. Now she may as well add a couple of butterflies, too.

The Foggy Faraway

Tomorrow will be the third day in a row starting with a dense foggy morning. I’m not describing a metaphorical fog, because Lord knows we have plenty of those around here, but a genuine meteorological fog so thick it probably shows on the radar map. Sunday the sun came out for the drive home, but today the late afternoon had fog equal to the early morning.

Crossing the bridge over the Sabinal River, I looked to the left and saw a tall owl sitting near the top of a mostly dead tree. Nothing else on that side of the road was visible with any clarity, but that bird perched frozen on its branch and foggy background, merely one dimensional. Ahead of me was pea soup, as the old-timers used to say, but now I’m saying it, so we know what that means.

Tomorrow when I drive to painting class, I expect to travel through a gray glaze much like the one I apply to my paintings when I want a hill to recede into the faraway. How easy would it be to brush myself into the faraway with tinted Liquin-loaded bristles, smooth the sharp edges, reduce the contrast, flatten the panorama, almost disappear.

Ear Screw

“You lost your ear screw,” she said as my candy cane earring slipped out and landed on my lap. Even though it was obviously a French wire to me, it was an ear screw to my aunt in her nineties. At this point any earring will never be anything else to her.

I remember those contraptions, and I do think I first wore them in grade seven or eight, careful to make them tight but not too tight. When I removed them, the indentations would remain for a while, and sometimes my lobes ached and throbbed until gentle massaging restored the circulation. Wearing them symbolized a growing-up moment for me as well as a reaffirmation of my gender, because I had never seen any male wear an earring except for Captain Hook.

Then I checked her ears and found them accented by dainty pearls but too obscured by her hairstyle to determine whether backed by screws or clips or posts. I resisted reaching up to brush back a strand of her hair, but I couldn’t stop myself from wondering. Our conversation drifted through current topics as well as stories of family members and history in no particular order. If she hesitated at a name or detail, it came to her quickly with confidence. When I said goodbye later, I kissed and hugged her closely, but the type of earring was still a mystery. Driving home, I wished I had just asked her about the earrings she was wearing today, but then I wish I had asked her about so many other things, too. At ninety plus, how many more chances will I have?

We scheduled another visit for next Monday when my sister and I will be in that town for a meeting. You can safely bet that I’m looking forward to it very much, maybe even surprisingly so. I’ll be sure to wear some earrings that I can fasten more securely, just like I’m trying hard to fasten her stories to mine more securely.