While of course I didn’t get to my own choir practice last night, I went with #2 daughter to hers. I was on the only female singer. There were two men. One had a little songbook which he had picked up at a yard sale. It contained the words to hundreds of songs, including “Glow Worm” and “Cecelia.”
I didn’t know “Cecelia,” but I can now tell you that it begins “Does your mother know you’re out, Cecelia? Does she know that I’m about to steal ya?” This sounds creepier to us now, I feel sure, than it did when it was written.
The songs reminded me of P.G.Wodehouse’s stories based on his years as a lyricist for Hollywood musicals, which are quite funny. It appears that he wasn’t exaggerating.
The guy with the songbook wanted to sing the songs in his book, rather than “My Shepherd Will Supply My Needs.”
It was a brief practice.
I went out for a walk yesterday. I walked up to the Garment Distric Museum again. It was still locked up, but there were people inside. I walked around to the other side of the building, where there was a desk with a girl sitting there looking like a receptionist. I asked her about the museum in the back of the building, but she behaved as though I were imagining things. She didn’t call anyone, or look it up, or anything of that kind. Just went “Huh?”
I may try again today. Perhaps I can look it up myself before going, and call them, and ask where their door is.
#2 daughter and I strolled out for coffee yesterday morning and ran into a friend of hers. He lives in a loft upstairs above the coffee house, which makes them fairly near neighbors.
She asked what he was doing these days. “I work in a bank,” he said. She works in an insurance office. Since she lives in a city now, many of the people she knows work in the city. This is different from the people I know. The people I know are math profs or preachers or IT guys or shopkeepers or teachers or bakers or, for that matter, hypnotists — people whose jobs are like an identity The employer is secondary, and can change. Corporate workers don’t say, “I’m a claims adjuster” or “I’m a clerk II.” They say who they work for.
I’ve been getting some unbillable work done this week, though not my accounting, since that’s at home on my computer.
My husband says he’s almost dying. He says this a lot. The boys say they’re fine. They spent a lot of money with the Schwan’s man, so they have food to eat, and otherwise it doesn’t matter much that I’m not there.