I got way too much sympathy yesterday. Not that I don’t like sympathy, but it seems to me that I must have misrepresented the situation. Shorn of all the dithering, what happened was this:

  • I was called to interview for a fulltime teaching job.
  • Three people chose me to design their websites, rather than someone I know to be more qualified.

I don’t deserve much sympathy for that.

#1 son is off to Tennessee for a rock concert. In fact, he ought to be there by now. This is an annual roadtrip. #2 son is planning to take his driving test today. That means I have to drive him to the testing place. Then on Sunday we have to drive him to Governor’s School, and there are Scary Roads involved. I will accept sympathy for this, even though I probably don’t deserve any.

#1 daughter, who has some design skills, has offered to help me out with my web design issues. I sent her some software to learn. She needs a hobby, living in Cowboy Land as she does.

I got a little cross in choir practice last night. This is not good. I was having trouble with the rhythm of a particular line.

Our choir director, Bigsax, likes to practice music by beginning at the beginning and barreling straight through, allowing people to fall by the wayside if they must. If people have trouble, he starts over and does it again. He will entertain questions, though he often responds with things like, “Just sing what’s written on the page.”

Last night, I was singing the line wrong. I was not the only one singing the line wrong, so I couldn’t just stay quiet during one of the repetitions and listen to it being sung correctly. In fact, there were only two altos present and neither of us was singing the line correctly.

“It’s different from the first time,” Bigsax informed me. “See? ‘Samaria’ is shorter. That’s why you’re getting off.”

I hate when people tell me “see.” I am the one who can’t recognize her own car in the parking lot. If I could look at the line and sing it right, I’d have done that.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I have grasped that I’m doing it wrong. I just need some clues about how to do it right. Could I hear it, maybe? Just the alto line?”

Now, there are choirs in which it is bad form to ask for a note, let alone a whole line. You are supposed to learn your music first in those choirs, and come in to work on it for things like expression and stuff. You know, music. Ours is not one of those choirs. I don’t know why Bigsax has such a rooted objection to running through a single line. He will argue about having to do so for far longer than it would take just to do it.

So he finally gave in and allowed the piano player to play the one phrase, and even allowed us altos to sing through it with the piano.

I wasn’t cross yet.

Here’s what made me cross: the back row talked loudly and incessantly through the whole process. It is hard to hear the exact rhythm of “Samaria” when someone is jabbering away in your ear. The back row never shuts up.

In this case, I actually shushed them. Suwanda asked them to keep it down so we could hear the line. It’s hard to get the line played in the first place; you can’t get it played again.

“What are we supposed to do back here?” growled a belligerent bass. “Suck our thumbs till you’re finished?” snap

“Yes,” I answered.

They did not stop carrying on.

I’ve got the line now. It just didn’t seem as though I should have had to work that hard for it.

However, it also seems as though I was unnecessarily cross about it. And unnecessarily whiny about my work situation, which is an adventure if looked at properly.

I think I had better snap out of it.