|Some of the instruments for the concert|
This morning, my choir sang at a funeral. We were to be there at ten to rehearse for the eleven o’clock service. I considered eating a little pick-me-up first, but given that we had to be there so (for me, anyway,) early, I made do with a couple of cups of tea, and was on my way. I didn’t know the principal party, but it seems that he was a wonderful fellow, loved by all who knew him, and sure to be sorely missed by many. Consequently, the funeral was lengthy. In fact, we didn’t leave till nearly one-thirty. I was famished, and getting very whiney. I scurried home to my breakfast – now lunch, gobbled it up, and quickly felt much better. This all brought to mind the memorial mass our choir sang when the Pope John Paul II died. Rebecca and I planned to sing at the mass, and then go to lunch before I went to work. Well, that one went on until it was actually time to go to work – so late that I had to hurry to avoid being late. And once again, I had left the house without a proper breakfast. By the time I got to work at three, I was beyond hungry, and was actually shaking, nearly crying. My boss, a faithful Catholic, asked what was amiss, and I told her about the mass and the Pope. She assumed that I was all upset about the death of the Pope, while in fact, it was just lack of food, and the even worse lack of prospect of getting any soon. She felt so sorry for me in my sorrow, that she let me go home!!! I didn’t set her straight until years later.
This evening, I was a (this time, well fed) volunteer usherette at a fabulous Cathedral concert – a staged production of several short oratorios by Carissimi and one by Charpentier. This was a much more intimate performance than that at the Opera House, and hence, was even more amazing. Those opera stars don’t really even seem human- they are more like supermen and women, from another world. These singers were very human, right there in front of us, and very fabulous. I marveled that a regular person can sing like they did. Well, not regular, but a real person – one whom one could talk to and maybe run into at the races. I’m not sure why I said “at the races.” That was just the first place which came to mind. The races are one of the last places I would ever go. I like them in Dick Francis’s books, but that’s it. The essence of tedium in my mind. But à chacun son goût. But again, maybe it was because I love the Marx Brothers, and they went to both the opera and the races! That must be it.