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The wonderful awfulness that is a Christmas Concert
Last night we had the privilege of attending my oldest niece’s first choral performance. She’s ten. It was a Christmas concert of sorts with songs played by the beginner band and songs sung by the chorus. The kids had been practicing for about three weeks. Which pretty much meant they were rough, squeaky, awkward and totally fourth graders. It was absolutely lovely. I almost cried.
I’m sure there will come a time in my near future when I will dread having to squeeze in yet another one of these concerts but this one was more beautiful to me than thousand-dollar box seats at the opera. Perfect performances are boring. Imperfect ones are lovely. From the tape peelings left from posters being ripped off the lunchroom wall to the uncomfortable metal chairs that were too close to your neighbor for comfort to the innocent freckled bubblegum cheeks of pre-puberty…I just wanted to capture it and put it in a jar.
So I made a horrible movie instead. I think I got another grain of sand in my camera because my lens has a terrible time focusing. (Blast it. Never buy a Canon TX-1.) I think the awfulness of my movie-making sort of goes with the theme of perfection being overrated though. I just had to share it with you even if it makes you squint and curse my camera skills under your breath. Life is blurry and wiggly sometimes, you know?
The whole event brought back waves of memories that nearly squished me with sentiment. I remember being in chorus. I remember singing so earnestly, standing up there on those creaky old thin carpet-covered bleachers. I remember trying to harmonize when I didn’t even really know what harmonizing was and crooning off key like a dying cow. I don’t think the teacher ever noticed me but that might be the reason I never made it to “Show Choir.”
I remember the fart jokes and the nervousness about my clothes not matching quite right. I remember hours and hours of examining the kids’ heads who stood in front of me. I remember one girl had so many zits on her back it nearly drove me insane just looking at them. I remember it all like it was yesterday.
How did my little niece get to be ten already? I just want to go to school with her every day and fight off the icy chunks of insecurity that come raining down like hail for no reason at all. I just want to meddle and fix and make everything okay so she can be the innocent child that I love so much forever and ever! But I can’t. I can’t hold back her curiosity for the future. I can’t stop time. I can only wince and record it.
It’s all so beautiful.
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Our Non-Thanksgiving Puddle-Jumping Adventures
I was about to type that today was the quietest most uneventful Thanksgiving I’ve ever had but that would be a complete lie. First, because Bug is NOT quiet or uneventful; second, because there was that one Thanksgiving where I cooked a complete dinner and then my drunken family members never showed up. Yeah. That thanksgiving was by far my WORST Thanksgiving ever.
Today was uneventful (not counting the half-dozen very exciting things Bug and I did) because we did not celebrate Thanksgiving. My dad and brother are truckers and we didn’t think they would make it home in time so we put off the big feast and festivities until this coming Sunday. We spent today quietly at home not eating turkey and not hanging out with family. It wasn’t so bad actually.
Even though we were not celebrating anything today, you could tell it was a holiday. Our usually bustling neighborhood was still and serene. It was eerily quiet. I could actually sit by my open window and not hear a car go by. That never happens.
We live behind a restaurant that sells ham and it’s been a madhouse there lately. We hate this time of year because the ham-buying customers take up all the free parking spots, they line up around the block and they litter. The ham-restaurant employees are even worse. They honk and bang and make a giant mess of the parking lot that is our main view. Their holiday help is especially bad and it’s not uncommon to see them lighting up a pot pipe, drinking a 40 or urinating on the wall behind the restaurant. I know. We should move. One of these years.
Anyway my post is not about them. It’s about Bug, of course. My silly little puddle-jumping Bug. We’ve been waiting all year for it to rain. She has rain boots and she knows how to use them. The only problem is there are hardly ever any puddles around here for her to jump in. She’s worn them in the ocean, she’s worn them in the kiddie pool but all she really wants to do is wear them in some puddles!
After last night’s rain, we figured there ought to be some puddles around somewhere. So off we went hunting for them. Of course, even though it was rainy in the morning, those puddles dried right up and took some serious searching.
Bug even made up a song to search for them by. The tune may be borrowed from something off tv but the words are a true Bug original. She’s my little songster. Everything has a song.
I guess the song worked because she found some puddles and she splashed and she splashed and she splashed. You could say those puddles got their butt kicked.
I can think of worse ways to spend the holiday.
