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Well, in reverse chronological order, my day has been uber-interesting, mediocre, extremely disappointing, contentedly glowing, ecstatic, and extensively engaging.
Just now, Ben Jaber (Tom, director of Chorale, is his father) dropped me home from standing about in the parking lot listening to uillean (sp?) pipes and whistles in D, both live (he plays whistle well) and on cd. Before that, I'd asked him if he could play French horn for my opera, and he agreed amiably; I seem to be headed for Rice, and he gave me some advice which was exactly what I was thinking about doing: linguistics and music. I mentioned my language and showed him my bracelet, and suddenly I was offered French horn lessons (COOL) if I can inscribe something in Ailurian (probably his name) in the new horn he's getting. Which I can. That would be soooo cool.
Before that, the concert was passable. I've sung better, I know Mama's sung better, and the audience was lukewarm (it was nice to see Ally and her coterie, though. HA. Take that, seperatist. Nabil didn't even come, probably because Tony didn't). I was quite distracted at the beginning, though, because the infamous one was yanked back to his house inopportunely for not asking first to come to my house (which he did, after region, planning to go to the concert. What does this say about Halloween parties?). ANd I'd reeeeally wanted him to hear three particular songs. The concert went all right. I was too disconnected to cry at the parts worth crying. My windsock looks all right by itself, and the spiderwebs over it blow around in the expression.
Riding home from region was warmly comfortable; an afterglow of a pleasantly surprising rank (4th for me, 5th for Tony). And there were cool people in the car. Finding out, though, was pretty spectacular. They called and called names, and were down to few enough that I was heartbeat-worried. And then they called the names I wanted to hear. One section after another. And the hugging was painfully exuberant.
Before the exuberant hugging was less hyper but just as enthusiastic piling on the floor, waiting to audition and amusing each other (at one point it was so intertwined we got reprimanded and told to sit up). Randy and his people from Willis were just as amusing this audition as last time, and we hope to see them at the next one. All day was happy (except the intense waiting after a mediocre audition- I went 62nd, in the afternoon).
Even the drive to Nimitz was happy. The bus didn't come in time, which frustrated the teachers, but we went in parent cars, and mine was a good combination. Even the randomly wrong directions we were going on were fine, because we picked Glenn up from his broken-down car and he knew where we were going.
I think I like this windsock. Maybe I will wear it for concerto contest. Without anything else. There is enough natural uplift.
Just now, Ben Jaber (Tom, director of Chorale, is his father) dropped me home from standing about in the parking lot listening to uillean (sp?) pipes and whistles in D, both live (he plays whistle well) and on cd. Before that, I'd asked him if he could play French horn for my opera, and he agreed amiably; I seem to be headed for Rice, and he gave me some advice which was exactly what I was thinking about doing: linguistics and music. I mentioned my language and showed him my bracelet, and suddenly I was offered French horn lessons (COOL) if I can inscribe something in Ailurian (probably his name) in the new horn he's getting. Which I can. That would be soooo cool.
Before that, the concert was passable. I've sung better, I know Mama's sung better, and the audience was lukewarm (it was nice to see Ally and her coterie, though. HA. Take that, seperatist. Nabil didn't even come, probably because Tony didn't). I was quite distracted at the beginning, though, because the infamous one was yanked back to his house inopportunely for not asking first to come to my house (which he did, after region, planning to go to the concert. What does this say about Halloween parties?). ANd I'd reeeeally wanted him to hear three particular songs. The concert went all right. I was too disconnected to cry at the parts worth crying. My windsock looks all right by itself, and the spiderwebs over it blow around in the expression.
Riding home from region was warmly comfortable; an afterglow of a pleasantly surprising rank (4th for me, 5th for Tony). And there were cool people in the car. Finding out, though, was pretty spectacular. They called and called names, and were down to few enough that I was heartbeat-worried. And then they called the names I wanted to hear. One section after another. And the hugging was painfully exuberant.
Before the exuberant hugging was less hyper but just as enthusiastic piling on the floor, waiting to audition and amusing each other (at one point it was so intertwined we got reprimanded and told to sit up). Randy and his people from Willis were just as amusing this audition as last time, and we hope to see them at the next one. All day was happy (except the intense waiting after a mediocre audition- I went 62nd, in the afternoon).
Even the drive to Nimitz was happy. The bus didn't come in time, which frustrated the teachers, but we went in parent cars, and mine was a good combination. Even the randomly wrong directions we were going on were fine, because we picked Glenn up from his broken-down car and he knew where we were going.
I think I like this windsock. Maybe I will wear it for concerto contest. Without anything else. There is enough natural uplift.
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