Perponderances.
Well, life has happened since the beginning of September, and it's just... going. I started going to choir practices at church (MOCK AT YOUR PERIL), which requires my time every Wednesday night, and many Sunday mornings. It will be worth it in the end, to sing again after a four year hiatus. Also? The choir is going on a trip to Romania, Prague, Budapest and other places next summer, and I'll be able to sing with them if I join during the year. Since they have fundraising efforts, it also may not cost an arm and a leg. Since I've seen a decent amount of Western Europe, seeing and geting to know some parts of Eastern Europe would be really wonderful. Transylvania is the geographical root of our faith (no, seriously: mock at your peril), so we're travelling to visit a sister church in a tiny village in Romania. We may even get to perform in the temple at Budapest. I miss singing, and another trip to Europe sounds like just the ticket next summer, so I consider my time well spent.
This past weekend Wes and I went out to visit Emily and Annie in Northampton for Friday night, smoking tons of cigarettes, drinking some booze, playing some cards, meeting some people... It was a lovely night and we should do it again, and soon. Before Annie leaves. Before it all changes again.
The five year anniversary of September 11th was this Monday, and I didn't really do anything particularly special. I send out an email every weekday morning to my co-workers that announces what meetings and students we have for the day, and on the end I like to tack on a "Today in History" section for fun, and that was when I was reminded about the anniversary. That night there was a meeting for the Alumni Association, and we had a moment of silence. There are times when I think about what happened, and the anniversary doesn't need to be one of them. I didn't really intend to talk about it, so I won't. I don't really have much to say.
For some reason I've been feeling particularly nostalgic lately, almost to a fault. I was passing through the intersection at Route 2 the other day and had a wave of memory, and I nearly started crying in the car. Just the flashbulb memory of the accident, the split second before impact, the flash of white, which is all I saw of her car... It's painful, sometimes constantly painful, and it seems to be haunting me. Today at rehearsal I was reminded of Mr. Brown, and the days where he had to play the piano for us, when we had no accompanist. He would lounge over the piano, playing songs part by part. On days when he was particularly frustrated, he would slouch down, propped up on an elbow, his face slack without emotion. Then he'd slam his hands into the keys, creating a burst of painful sound, drawing us to silence from chattering or off-key singing. It was those days where I sat a little straighter, tried a little harder. Far be it for me to make his day any more difficult, just because I was feeling punchy. I miss him. I miss singing with the chorus, with those rich voices. With Jen and Kathy, whose voices I knew so well and blended with mine, leading the section. I miss singing.
Enough musing. This wasn't really for you anyhow.
This past weekend Wes and I went out to visit Emily and Annie in Northampton for Friday night, smoking tons of cigarettes, drinking some booze, playing some cards, meeting some people... It was a lovely night and we should do it again, and soon. Before Annie leaves. Before it all changes again.
The five year anniversary of September 11th was this Monday, and I didn't really do anything particularly special. I send out an email every weekday morning to my co-workers that announces what meetings and students we have for the day, and on the end I like to tack on a "Today in History" section for fun, and that was when I was reminded about the anniversary. That night there was a meeting for the Alumni Association, and we had a moment of silence. There are times when I think about what happened, and the anniversary doesn't need to be one of them. I didn't really intend to talk about it, so I won't. I don't really have much to say.
For some reason I've been feeling particularly nostalgic lately, almost to a fault. I was passing through the intersection at Route 2 the other day and had a wave of memory, and I nearly started crying in the car. Just the flashbulb memory of the accident, the split second before impact, the flash of white, which is all I saw of her car... It's painful, sometimes constantly painful, and it seems to be haunting me. Today at rehearsal I was reminded of Mr. Brown, and the days where he had to play the piano for us, when we had no accompanist. He would lounge over the piano, playing songs part by part. On days when he was particularly frustrated, he would slouch down, propped up on an elbow, his face slack without emotion. Then he'd slam his hands into the keys, creating a burst of painful sound, drawing us to silence from chattering or off-key singing. It was those days where I sat a little straighter, tried a little harder. Far be it for me to make his day any more difficult, just because I was feeling punchy. I miss him. I miss singing with the chorus, with those rich voices. With Jen and Kathy, whose voices I knew so well and blended with mine, leading the section. I miss singing.
Enough musing. This wasn't really for you anyhow.