I cast on for Headline News from SnB Nation, in cream-colored Wool-Ease, with number 4 needles. Then I actually looked at the pattern, and had to shift to #3 needles. Anyway, I added a strand of elastic thread, as the pattern suggests, and am ribbing away. It is impossible to tell, at this point, what effect this will have. However, I had been contemplating adding a bit of elastic thread to Brooklyn’s ribbing, so I am glad to have this quick method of checking how that might work. I’ll let you know. The great thing with this is that the elastic thread does not show in the cream. Had I been using the red cotton, I think it would have been pretty obvious.

Choir last night, as well as the first meeting of the class on Methodism. Most of the people in the class were visitors to the church, but one had been a member for five years. “I’m not sure that I’m a Methodist any more,” she said. “Do you have a quiz we can take?” I asked. I got a laugh, too.

The choristers were talking at one point about a former choir director — someone from years ago, whose name they could not even remember. He was in the music department at the university, they said. He was very focused on the product, and, as people kept reiterating in a “let’s be fair” kind of voice, “The choir sounded really good.” But he had achieved that by being a slave driver, by auditioning, and by salting the group with his voice students. Members of the church had dropped out of the choir, it had ceased to be a real part of worship, and at last that director had left.

This is much like what was happening at my old church. In fact, a friend from that church told me recently that the music there had become “too much of a one-man band.” This is sad. But church music ought to grow out of the worship experience. It shouldn’t be imported and imposed upon the church. Even if it would, for a time, sound better.

The director allowed as how music was only math — the part on the page, that is.

After choir, I came home and hung out with my menfolks while they watched “Spiderman.” Then I went to bed with a book, only to be joined by my sons, who wanted to whine about how much they hated, loathed, and detested school. #1 son suggested that he could drop out and work full time instead of finishing school. “The Mendelian ratio,” he said. “I could be the one who dropped out of school.” I reminded him that he had had the option of homeschooling or of attending the charter school, and had chosen to stay at the high school. He whined some more. “You like school,” I said to #2 son, who was joining in. “You get to see all your buds.” “I don’t like the academic part,” he explained.

We do not expect adults to do things they dislike very often. When C said that she had quit the choir while the disliked director was there, we all agreed that she had been right to do so. “I sing for fun,” she said, “and if it’s not fun, I’m not going to do it.” This is true for me, too. If my class were not fun, I wouldn’t go. Even work — while none of us feels like going to work every single day, we tend to feel that someone who actually dislikes his or her job has just made a mistake and should rectify it.

The boys eventually got tired of whining about school, though it took much longer than I would have thought possible. They quit, I think, mostly because they got involved in a pillow fight and I made them leave. #2 son came back after a while to read his latest Terry Pratchett. At least he gets to choose his books.