My previous blog titled 20151227-1606-Text Message came as a surprise. It seems that Ate Ising and pals missed my “presence” at midnight mass. The alto section wasn’t strong enough without moi. She wished us well and such.
Anyway, my reason was that we had company and that I couldn’t leave due to cooking Kare-Kare and heating stuffed milk fish. In truth, I was tired and not interested in getting sick due to the freezing temperatures! Plus, we needed to get up early for mass the following day.
So with my parent’s help, I “gifted” Amy, who sits behind moi and her, with plastic bags of chayote squash, granola bars, and tiny Clementine oranges. I stuffed those plastic bags into the nicer Christmas cardboard bags from the Twit Wifey.
At 1044, I handed the gifting bags, removed my red long coat, and stuffed my human form into the choir gown robe. I sang relaxed, reminding myself to drop my diaphragm and sing from the belly. I tried to project my voice forward beyond the imaginary microphone in front of my lips/face.
Today, Clem pointed to us and that helped tremendously. That’s what conductors could do for lost volunteers. Because although I could recall the music (tempo, melody, whatever), I get brain burps and fart where I left off! I messed up one measure from a VERY simple song in the green hymnal! I hate when that happens!
The crazy bitch living next door to us served as communion minister again. She is divorced twice and NOT in good standing with the community. She’s embarrassing herself. She’s ruining the image of that local parish with her shit. It’s our hope that she’s will be scheduled in other masses; so that my parents can attend the choir mass. My dad misses to listening to my signing. Sigh.
After today’s choir mass, I saw that the crazy bitch living next door to us was talking to Ate Ising within the doorway nearest the choir box. We are hoping that the new coordinator will process our request. During our early morning mass at another, more peaceful parish, we were happy to read her text message to the effect!
(Oh, I’d hate to “connect the dots” with my imaginations, but when an offense hasn’t been removed, err, resolved timely and properly, the “time bandits” can and have programmed “remedies”. For example, with the recent death of the old coordinator, who was seven years older than moi, a leader of the C4C group took over the position and responsibilities. Justice still needs to be observed.)
Thrice, the crazy bitch living next door to us opened her garage door. Once when I was leaving for last Sunday mass, another when I friended from Monday’s choir rehearsal, and once when Dad was hauling his two city carts from the street to our backyard, after we arrived home from shopping. Dad said she was making noise again. I saw Dad smiling at her. I yelled at him to fucking hurry up, but unless he likes “posing” for her cameras.
Yeah, so praise be the Lawd Gawd. Amen.
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