And it is Christmas. I usually try to ignore the date and quietly move right on into January. I have almost made it. There were no decorations again this year unless you count the ones that the dogs wore to visit their friends and the health care facilities. And yes I admit that sometimes in a weak moment I ask them to wear something silly just to do a ride along in the car. They do look so festive.
I have gotten to attend two very different Christmas presentations. Last Thursday evening, Remi and I drove out through the large puddles and down the dark roads to the health care center to watch and listen to their Christmas production. A few outside musicians and several residents presented some holiday songs and shared joy with their families and friends. Most of the resident’s performances demonstrated a love for the sentiment of the season but not so much the ability to hit the right key. As you might expect ones breath control goes along with health especially when you are not called upon to sing around the piano with friends and family much anymore. But there was no getting around the laughter and cheer and warmth that permutated the room. It was all good.
On Christmas Eve I drove my stepmother over to her church so that she could attend her evening service. You need to understand that we are now on the other end of the spectrum of Christmas performances. When did Methodist ministers start dressing like Catholic priests? I guess it had been awhile since I had attended church.
The church is large, fancy, well established and nestled into one of Cincinnati’s wealthiest neighborhoods. I used to sing in the choir when I was in high school. Christmas Eve music was always part of the magic of Christmas in those days only I remember the church as over flowing with standing room only in the back and completely filled with candlelight at the end.
The candlelight is still touching at the end as the lights are lowered but sitting up front I noticed that there would have been room for some additional stragglers. I guess I am not the only one who has wondered away from formal church services. The music still dramatically tries to sweep everyone up in the message and mood of the night. In my opinion the flute player could have done it alone. No organ extravaganza would have been needed. But then this particular choir hires a couple of soloists to sing with them every week and presented some sweet solos as part of their music. I kept trying to see back to that sixteen year old me and wondered if I would have been qualified to sing in such a quality choir. Sigh. I used to be able to sing.
In college I even enjoyed music enough to take lessons for two quarters. I stopped when we realized that by the second quarter I would be required to sing before a “jury” in order to receive a grade. I was average. My grade average didn’t appreciate the hit.
Fast forward through thirty years of teaching. I only made it through the first 15 before I realized that what little voice I had was lost. Oh, I can still lead an amazing rendition of, “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed,” or “Little Rabbit Fo Fo,” in my lower register but don’t ask me to sing in a normal pitch. Those vocal cords are destroyed. Nonverbal students don’t complain (or grade) teachers that sing in their lower register.
So now when I do go to events that expect “singing” as much as my heart may have memories of past wonderful experiences, I stand silent and listen and remember and miss singing. I miss that personal lift that music can give the spirit. Oh, the sound of others still grabs me but I miss being able to transport myself along with all the other sopranos in the Halleluiah chorus. Now my voice remains silent even at the nursing home if that lets you know how gone it is.
It may be one of the reasons I avoid church. The music was the part that mattered to me. So, I loved that the residents of the health care center still had enough voice to be able to sing and that they didn’t have to worry that they weren’t good enough to sing with the soloists.
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