Thursday, March 23, 2006
A sad day. Yesterday was our performance of Carmina Burana. The evening rehearsals have been such fun and the music was so good. For so many amateurs, many who had not sung since schooldays, we made a very good sound. It was nice to meet mothers from the Junior School, and the conductor, the director of music at the school, was a great thrill, so positive and encouraging. "That was fantastic." "If you could just look at me I'll try and help you." "When the men were singing I was watching a soprano who was singing away. If she had just looked at me she would have noticed!" He explained to the junior choir at the dress rehearsal that he would make eye contact with everyone so they must keep looking at him, and if he wasn't looking at them then he would be soon and it would be such a pity if they missed him. Wednesdays won't be the same again.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Instead of taking the first part of the service with Lorna and Fiona we have stayed at home. There is quite a blizzard here and I don't know whether we would have negotiated several hills successfully. J and A are enjoying the snow, while I am indulging in mailart and listening to Terence Stamp on Desert Island Discs.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Had a lovely day at Hobbycrafts show in Glasgow with Christine. We set off at 8 and got there just after it opened at 9.30. There were some interesting demonstrations and we made judicious purchases. I like my new envelope template best, but some stamps for less than a £1 were nice too. It was fun to play tonight, though I have totally lost my voice (so no choir).
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
A gorgeous evening at the children’s school. At the Spring Concert there will be a performance of Carmina Burana and parents can join the chorus. We’ve got three rehearsals and they are such fun. It’s interesting to have a different conductor and different music from the church choir.
One of my favourite books is Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster. I’ve reread it often. There’s a poem in it which I wanted to use in a Buttons deco. Judy says she doesn’t know who wrote. Thirty odd years after buying my copy of the book I Googled the poem. Lo and behold it’s by Emily Dickinson. I only know her from a poetry reading when I was a student on retreat in Iona Abbey and an American lady read a poem, including every dash, and then, of course, Paul Simon’s Dangling Conversation. Now I’ll have to study her. Tonight I looked up Jean Webster (real first name Alice) and discovered she died aged 40, of childbirth complications. Her mother was a niece of Mark Twain.