Delights: September 8 to 14

September 8: Last night, I attended the first rehearsal of the Smithsonian Associates Chorus. Prerequisites: registration and $120. No singing experience (or even singing ability) required. 

I walked into the rehearsal room with a friend, who’d sung with the Chorus over the past few years. Bearing my name tag, binder of music and pencil, I settled in with the altos. Nearby was a law professor I knew from my old life and across the room (sitting with the sopranos) I spied Hedy, a dear older friend and mentor. She was absolutely the last person I expected to see. But she keeps her hair razor-short, wears big artsy necklaces, and lives life joyously and fearlessly. (I try; she succeeds.) Chorus was calling us both.

To warm up, we stood with yoga uprightness and, for quite some time, stretched our faces, mouths and vocal chords. (Our director urged us on: “violinists just sit down and play scales.”) And then we started to practice. I couldn’t come close to the alto’s high notes and wasn’t very comfortable in the middle either. So I stood up from my front-row seat — which had provided an excellent view during warmups of our director’s mouth, but was a bit conspicuous now — and moved to the rear center of our rainbow arc.

“Hey,” said one fellow to another during a break, “a woman’s joined us in bass!” Rumble, rumble, boom, boom. I have found my people. 

I’ve got rhythm; who can ask for anything more? 

Bonus: We have a great song list. It includes one of my all-time favorites, “Build Me Up, Buttercup,” by the Foundations. Enjoy their 1969 live performance on “Beat-Club” here. I really want a glittery, bell-bottomed, big-sleeved jumpsuit like that for my performance.

September 9: “What — “ Jeremiah asked, “were you singing this morning?” Uh oh.

I had decided to sleep in this Saturday morning, simply because I could. But my body couldn’t take me past 7:45 a.m. So I sat up, pulled out a recording of the bass part of “Build Me Up, Buttercup” and started practicing: 

“Build — me — up. — Don’t — break — my heart. [pause] 
Build — me — up. — Don’t — break — my heart. [pause] 
Build — me — up. — Don’t — break — my heart. [pause] 
Build — me — up. — Don’t — break — my heart. [pause]
Build — me — up. — Don’t — break — my hearttt, my heartttttt.” 

And again. And again: For more than 15 minutes (actually, I think it was closer to 30), I repeated the first 27 seconds of the song until I’d learned it. [Editor’s note: “learned it” doesn’t actually mean singing in tune. Let’s hope that comes with time.]

Eventually, I listened to the entire song and discovered that the last 30 seconds were the same (!!) as the first 30 seconds, so I practiced those bars too, including a high-note finale.

At last, I declared victory. I felt energized and ready to face the day. I might have discovered a new morning ritual.

Any requests, Jeremiah?

September 10: Jeremiah came back from the front door bearing a paper ghost and a gift bag frothing black and orange tissue paper. “We’ve been ‘booed,’” Jeremiah announced. 

This is a bit early, I thought, for Halloween trick-or-treat (although earlier on this rainy day at Nationals Park, my friend Kathy and I saw dozens of fans behind home plate wearing complementary hooded white rain ponchos and looking like a nursery of baby ghosts). 

I rummaged through our boo-bag of treats. I found glow-sticks, a bag of pretzels, a sheet of stickers, and an assortment of small toys and candy. It was our turn. I made a photocopy of the paper ghost, which I placed in our front window. I then returned the original ghost to its bag, added a trinket of our own and scampered out the door. Who to boo?

Across the street lived a family with young children. I placed the bag on the stoop, rang the doorbell, and dashed away. I know I was spotted. I’m eager, however, to scan our street’s front windows over the next month in search of our neighborhood’s own nursery of baby ghosts.

September 12: I escorted my 4^th grade class to lunch yesterday, gobbled my own, and headed to Bethany Beach in Delaware. 

When I had agreed to be an emergency long-term substitute teacher, I stipulated that I needed three and a half days of leave in mid-September to direct an adult retreat. Of course, of course, the principal had said. So off I went (leaving behind a substitute teacher for the substitute teacher).

I was joined by 14 people (including my friend Bonnie). All in our 60s, 70s or 80s, we came together to stroll the Bethany Beach boardwalk, wade into the September-warm ocean, and — oh yeah — dive into vexatious and illuminating questions of faith. Our conversations were rich and often inspiring. 

I particularly loved an image shared by one retreatant: that our souls aren’t confined within our bodies, but rather shimmer beyond them. And — here’s the best part — they amplify when encountering the souls of others. Community, or any meaningful encounter with another person, literally nourishes our souls. I think we know that already, but I love the idea of my soul seeking other souls, and taking the rest of me along for my own good.

Bonus: If you ever find yourself teaching an adult Sunday School class, I recommend using as a discussion prompt the video series “Half-Truths: God Helps Those Who Help Themselves and Other Things the Bible Doesn’t Say,” presented by pastor and author Adam Hamilton. 

September 13: Over lunch, a retreatant described a conversation her son had had with a fireworks expert. The expert was planning to launch a 15-minute pyrotechnics show after that evening’s minor league baseball game. The same expert had also been hired to oversee this year’s (rescheduled) Bethany Beach fireworks show  — but he was asked to ignite all 45 minutes worth of fireworks in a 15 minute period. 

In other words, the entire Bethany Beach fireworks show was one very long Grand Finale. How about those oohs and ahhs?

September 14: Our retreat included two long, lazy unscheduled afternoons. I swam in the ocean, read deeply, took a nap and added all the bubbling waterfall parts of a community jigsaw puzzle. 

Quiet. So much quiet. 

And tonight is Back to School Night. 

Think, Carol Ann, of all those nourishing souls you’ll encounter…

Readers, to receive notifications by email each time I make a post, just scroll all the way down this page (next to the “word cloud”), look to the left and click on the black button that says “Join Me!” And if you think a friend might enjoy these, please share the Delight!

If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!