I'd take a photo of what it really looks like today, but all you'd see is white. And not from flowers, let me tell you.
The phrase Bah Humbug comes to mind. Also, the phrase Bugger.
Hey, bugger can be a phrase all by itself if it wants to, you know.
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When I got to work this morning I had an e-mail (in my personal mail, not my work mail. I do keep them separate, in case you wondered) from the alumni association of the university choir I sang in when I was... um, at university. But I guess that last was obvious. Anyway, the e-mail contained a link to their newsletter, so I thought I'd have a peek at it before I got down to business
So far, so good.
I read through the information about the spring concerts and the upcoming tour (add a few et ceteras here if you want to) and then got on to the main article, which was an interview with the choir's director. It was in honour of his twenty-fifth anniversary conducting the choir.
Twenty-fifth.
When I started in the choir it was his second year as the director.
WHAT?
How the h-e-double-hockey-sticks did that happen? Twenty-four years since I was a first year First Alto? NO WAY. NO.
Oh, and if anyone's wondering, I'm actually a mezzo so I probably should have been singing Second Soprano. The director in question was the first person to really recognise what my adult voice was doing, though. I'd gone through some pretty drastic changes during puberty (it's not just you boys that have that problem, you know) and had taken to singing alto when I -- temporarily -- lost my high notes. He saw that I could have managed it during my audition and called me a big chicken. My first audition for a big choir and I get called a big chicken... not an auspicious start, you'd think. Things turned out all right, however, and he ended up putting me in with the altos because he thought I could carry a middle part well without being pulled away from it.
Give me just one more moment of denial here before I continue, all right?
Ok. So almost twenty-five years have gone by since I joined my first-ever adult choir because I was intimidated at the thought of being at a university whose population was six times bigger than my entire home town's and because I thought I'd really miss music if I dropped it completely.
I was right. That choir became both a social and an artistic lifeline, even though four hours of practice a week was pretty tough while managing a full lab schedule as well (kept me from becoming a drinker at school for sure, at least. It only takes one two-hour Saturday morning practice with a hangover to make you decide to never, ever do the Friday night thing again). I have fantastic memories, I was introduced to an amazing variety of music, I experienced the occasionally questionable fun of touring by bus, and I stayed sane enough to be able to enjoy the science side of my life as well.
Not a bad thing at all.
Even if it was twenty-four years ago.
Sigh.
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In other news, yesterday was a red-letter day in the world of shoulder holes, as I was able to get through an entire day wearing just a bandage instead of a full dressing and I didn't manage to leak through it.
Yay, I guess.
The biggest problem now is that as I move to smaller coverings they get increasingly difficult to put on by myself. With the big ones I could use the wall to help smooth things, but a bandage needs much better aim. Don't suppose anyone would like to come over to my place every morning to help me with my owie?
Yeah, didn't think so.
Stupid shoulder hole anyway.
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Edited a couple of hours later to add that I just realised I'd forgotten to mention
And am I wearing green?
Yes.
It's my work uniform shirt, which makes things extremely convenient.
Erm... you can go back to whatever you were doing now. I think I'm done typing.
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