300 Lutherans walk into a bar...
Several things have happened this week that really filled my tank, as it were. I sang a funeral this week and for some reason hearing testimonies from the son and the granddaughter about being loved and raised by this remarkable woman just got me to feeling all warm and fuzzy. And dang near impaired my usual emotional remove in such situations, singing-wise.
A friend of mine, after a few unsuccesful attempts at same is about ready to pop with a healthy baby girl. She's on Facebook (a mindless addiction I'd hate to recommend, but on the other hand, it's summer, right?), and reading about her preparations there and on her blogs has been so beautiful. She (like her husband who also blogs) is wickedly funny, and on several occasions I have hurt myself laughing at their dead-on observations. One of the most touching things they've done is made movies, more or less weekly, in which they talk to their soon to be daughter about goings on in their lives and her development. What a treasure that will be her whole life long!
And then there's those Lutherans! This week the Association of Lutheran Church Musicians is holding its national conference in Houston. At least the rain has stopped, but now it's hotter than, well, the hot place. Great for welcoming guests. Anyhoo, among the many worship experiences they planned for the conference was a presentation of Bach's Magnificat by the Bach Society of Houston. It's one of the groups I sing with, based at Christ the King Lutheran Church (known affectionately as Christ the Lutheran King Church, for reasons that are apparent when viewing the sign outside). I tried to find a picture of the sign, but alas, I could not. If you're in Houston, it's on the corner of Greenbriar and Rice. It's a stylized font, landscape orientation, two rows of text reading "Christ the King" on the left side and "Lutheran Church" on the right. Which, when read left to right like most folks do, reads:
All that to say, we did a Bach Vesper service for the assembled Lutherans. That would be Lutheran musicians. Choir directors, organists, ministers of music. People who sing. VERY well. There is nothing more exciting than hearing a live room resonate with the sound of people singing well together in large numbers. One forgets what hymns and responses can sound like when, well, civilians are singing. Not that there as anything wrong with that. But there is a lustiness, some extra dimension of sound that occurs when (for lack of a better word) professionals are the worship participants. When the ministers are being minstered to, there's a special feeling in the room. I've only gotten to experience this a few times, at similar conferences. And each time I am amazed, humbled and renewed.
Maybe I should go to more conferences! I suspect that might dim the experience. Not for nothing did the sages opine that familiarity breeds contempt.
In other news, the luckiest day of the century came and went almost without notice for me. I did not get married (ha! not even close!). But between the huge and near constant thunderstorms I did manage to get to the grocery store for provisions. Part of the simplification of my life has included avoiding carrying a purse whenever possible. Usually this entails pockets. In my haste to dodge rain splatters, I went out in one of my– pocketless– lounge/workout ensembles. Somehow, while attempting to keep and umbrella, keys, a shopping list and a credit card in my hands, I managed to drop the credit card. Not once, but twice.
The first time, in produce, a nice lady saw me drop the card and handed it over. To my great relief. The second time, somewhere between seafood and meat, I didn't feel it go, nor was there any savior-like shopper in my vicinity. I realized I was without a means to pay for my groceries when I was nearly at the check-out. After taking a moment to panic (and dreading the thought of having to go back to the poultry counter to return the painstakingly measured chicken), I went to the customer service desk and inquired about my lost card. One of the associates had picked it up. They had even paged my name over the PA. Never heard it. I was one very grateful customer that day, let me tell you.
And yes, we are re-evaluating our purslessness.
It has been time for my annual woman's worryfest over the, um, girls. They being what they are, questionable mammograms are more the rule than the exception. Of course, my life being what it is, I kind of skipped a couple of years. [NOTE: I COMPLETELY DO NOT RECOMMEND THIS. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. IF YOU ARE A WOMAN OF APPROPRIATE AGE, CALL YOUR DOCTOR NOW AND SCHEDULE YOUR EXAM. IF YOU ARE A MAN, CALL THE WOMEN IN YOUR LIFE AND GET THEIR EXAM SCHEDULED. PRONTO. I MEAN IT. GO. NOW!] This year though, the skipped years (3) combined with the changed (i.e. smaller) landscape, meant the good doctor found some new areas to worry me about. Fast forward through the obligatory (and inconclusive) ultrasound and he sends me to a specialist.
Let me say here that this is summer. I've had a lot of traveling to do. All of these visits and tests are happening in a very extended manner, taking place between May and July instead of the oh, week in which they could have taken place, travel notwithstanding. Just a small added stressor.
She, the surgeon, is a lovely woman. Great treatment manner and trustworthy. She sends me to a hospital for a Dilon scan. If you don't take the link, it's a nuclear medicine test with scary accuracy. It is able to definitively rule out cancer, and can detect lesions as small as 1 mm. I am surprised more people don't know about this, which is why I'm telling you. I'm clean, by the way, so no worries there.
Project update: With all the traveling (Europe was grand, another post, another day), my task has been pretty much maintaining. Which I have managed to do. So we stand at 63.5 lbs released.
Gotta go see my babies. More later!
A friend of mine, after a few unsuccesful attempts at same is about ready to pop with a healthy baby girl. She's on Facebook (a mindless addiction I'd hate to recommend, but on the other hand, it's summer, right?), and reading about her preparations there and on her blogs has been so beautiful. She (like her husband who also blogs) is wickedly funny, and on several occasions I have hurt myself laughing at their dead-on observations. One of the most touching things they've done is made movies, more or less weekly, in which they talk to their soon to be daughter about goings on in their lives and her development. What a treasure that will be her whole life long!
And then there's those Lutherans! This week the Association of Lutheran Church Musicians is holding its national conference in Houston. At least the rain has stopped, but now it's hotter than, well, the hot place. Great for welcoming guests. Anyhoo, among the many worship experiences they planned for the conference was a presentation of Bach's Magnificat by the Bach Society of Houston. It's one of the groups I sing with, based at Christ the King Lutheran Church (known affectionately as Christ the Lutheran King Church, for reasons that are apparent when viewing the sign outside). I tried to find a picture of the sign, but alas, I could not. If you're in Houston, it's on the corner of Greenbriar and Rice. It's a stylized font, landscape orientation, two rows of text reading "Christ the King" on the left side and "Lutheran Church" on the right. Which, when read left to right like most folks do, reads:
Christ the Lutheran
King Church
All that to say, we did a Bach Vesper service for the assembled Lutherans. That would be Lutheran musicians. Choir directors, organists, ministers of music. People who sing. VERY well. There is nothing more exciting than hearing a live room resonate with the sound of people singing well together in large numbers. One forgets what hymns and responses can sound like when, well, civilians are singing. Not that there as anything wrong with that. But there is a lustiness, some extra dimension of sound that occurs when (for lack of a better word) professionals are the worship participants. When the ministers are being minstered to, there's a special feeling in the room. I've only gotten to experience this a few times, at similar conferences. And each time I am amazed, humbled and renewed.
Maybe I should go to more conferences! I suspect that might dim the experience. Not for nothing did the sages opine that familiarity breeds contempt.
In other news, the luckiest day of the century came and went almost without notice for me. I did not get married (ha! not even close!). But between the huge and near constant thunderstorms I did manage to get to the grocery store for provisions. Part of the simplification of my life has included avoiding carrying a purse whenever possible. Usually this entails pockets. In my haste to dodge rain splatters, I went out in one of my– pocketless– lounge/workout ensembles. Somehow, while attempting to keep and umbrella, keys, a shopping list and a credit card in my hands, I managed to drop the credit card. Not once, but twice.
The first time, in produce, a nice lady saw me drop the card and handed it over. To my great relief. The second time, somewhere between seafood and meat, I didn't feel it go, nor was there any savior-like shopper in my vicinity. I realized I was without a means to pay for my groceries when I was nearly at the check-out. After taking a moment to panic (and dreading the thought of having to go back to the poultry counter to return the painstakingly measured chicken), I went to the customer service desk and inquired about my lost card. One of the associates had picked it up. They had even paged my name over the PA. Never heard it. I was one very grateful customer that day, let me tell you.
And yes, we are re-evaluating our purslessness.
It has been time for my annual woman's worryfest over the, um, girls. They being what they are, questionable mammograms are more the rule than the exception. Of course, my life being what it is, I kind of skipped a couple of years. [NOTE: I COMPLETELY DO NOT RECOMMEND THIS. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING. IF YOU ARE A WOMAN OF APPROPRIATE AGE, CALL YOUR DOCTOR NOW AND SCHEDULE YOUR EXAM. IF YOU ARE A MAN, CALL THE WOMEN IN YOUR LIFE AND GET THEIR EXAM SCHEDULED. PRONTO. I MEAN IT. GO. NOW!] This year though, the skipped years (3) combined with the changed (i.e. smaller) landscape, meant the good doctor found some new areas to worry me about. Fast forward through the obligatory (and inconclusive) ultrasound and he sends me to a specialist.
Let me say here that this is summer. I've had a lot of traveling to do. All of these visits and tests are happening in a very extended manner, taking place between May and July instead of the oh, week in which they could have taken place, travel notwithstanding. Just a small added stressor.
She, the surgeon, is a lovely woman. Great treatment manner and trustworthy. She sends me to a hospital for a Dilon scan. If you don't take the link, it's a nuclear medicine test with scary accuracy. It is able to definitively rule out cancer, and can detect lesions as small as 1 mm. I am surprised more people don't know about this, which is why I'm telling you. I'm clean, by the way, so no worries there.
Project update: With all the traveling (Europe was grand, another post, another day), my task has been pretty much maintaining. Which I have managed to do. So we stand at 63.5 lbs released.
Gotta go see my babies. More later!
posted by YankeeHobbit | 9:14 AM
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