Ideas, Insights,& Intuitions

A small church has a few people who show up and get things done. They keep the building and grounds maintained, pay the bills and keep the books, bring the food, make the coffee, do the shopping, throw the neighborhood parties, decorate the sanctuary, arrange for special music, run the sound system, provide transportation and lodging for out-of-town speakers, wash the dishes and take out the trash…and that’s just on a week-to-week basis.

The Christmas Season requires a few miracles to get our church through it, and a nice long rest afterwards in a sanitarium for our Music Director.

Our Spiritual Leader and his family, all good singers who normally participate in the Christmas Eve Candle-lighting service, had left the state to spend the holidays with an elderly and ailing family member. We were left with an assortment of singers and speakers from the congregation, who were used to performing on their own, but not in a coordinated effort. As a result, we never had a rehearsal where everyone was there.

This is a short list of headache-producing problems that required thinking on our feet and prayer during the program:

One no-show solo performer

One reader/performer with a head cold

One solo that instantly became a congregational hymn due to no-show solo performer

One special number that became a congregational hymn due to lack of practice together by a group scheduled to perform it

One tense moment when the reader/performer stepped up to the podium to read her scripture and someone else read it by mistake

Tense moment continues when Reader/performer retreats to back of church followed by Music Director, while trio attempts to perform song, “O, Holy Night” with one contralto, one baritone, and one mezzo-soprano (me).

Music Director sits down next to this writer after that song and buries her head on my bosom for several seconds.

The reader/performer returned to her seat and blew her nose. Somehow we got through the rest of the program. The readings were done in order by the correct people, the performer with the head cold got through her solo, the message given by an experienced speaker from the congregation was well-received, and the candle-lighting went smoothly. I got to end the service with my sentimental rendition of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas,” which was also well-received, and then everyone adjourned to the buffet where coffee, tamales, sandwiches, and cookies were enjoyed by all.

*********

At home when I played the CD recording of the program, it did not seem all that disorganized (except for one long silence), and I realized that some of the people in the audience may not have been aware of the dramas going on amongst the divas up front. Someone had even told me that she thought the service was better than last year’s (OMG!) But I know that long rest in a sanitarium seemed mighty appealing to our beleaguered Music Director!

As soon as I could read, I started writing poetry. Not very good poetry, you understand, but I knew it had to keep to a meter and rhyme. I memorized songs that I heard on the radio and sang them to myself, or with a girlfriend on the back porch “stage.” (She could not carry a tune, I soon realized, but she was blissfully unaware of that fact.) I had no piano until I was 13, but was drawn to every piano that I saw, and wanted to pick out one-finger melodies by ear.

Both my mother and father could sing by ear, and my dad, I learned later, had a few piano lessons as a boy, but neither of them could really read music. I learned basic sight-reading in grammar school and sang in choirs every chance I got. But I never received voice training as a solo performer, except for one semester in my freshman year of college. I knew how to sing, but I was not born with a “set of pipes” that set me apart as someone who could be famous one day. No power, no style, and certainly no burning ambition to be a star.

And yet, I was never so happy as when I was “hanging out” with musicians who did have talent. I could play a bass line progression on the piano to give the lead pianist a break while the sax, trumpet, and drums continued to jam. I once filled in on piano for a frat party just so that the group could keep its commitment, but I was very nervous. In high school and college I also was drawn to try out for the dramatic productions, just wanting to be part of the glamour and that certain atmosphere. Only once was I actually on stage with a speaking part: as one of the witches in MacBeth. I wore a ragged wig, long false nails, and some of my teeth were blacked out. But when my line came, I ran to the edge of the stage and pronounced it with as much evil affectation as I could summon, frightening a little boy in the front row!

And to this day, I have a wide streak of “ham” in me, which I channel into occasionally disguising myself on Halloween so completely that no one recognizes me (see “I Am Not An Old Grouch” in the October 2007 Archives.)

In 8^th grade I won a contest to write the school song. I also became famous as the girl who did an imitation of a dog-and-cat fight in the Talent Show. In high school I designed the cover of and contributed poetry to the literary magazine, and wrote and recited the class poem as Poet Laureate of the Class of 1956. It was not until much later that I found acceptance and encouragement as a serious singer-songwriter by fellow members of my Unity Church.

There I continue to write new songs and perform them myself with my barely adequate chording and strumming on the acoustic guitar, and no one seems to mind that I don’t have an outstanding voice. They even think my songs ought to be recorded, and that may yet happen before my life is over. Right now, I am a little excited about ending our Christmas Eve service with a sentimental rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, backed up by a professional performance track. If I see a few tissues dabbing at tears, I’ll be happy.

I think it’s the energy that I feel while performing music, especially with other people. It flows right through me when I am doing it right, and there is no effort to it, even at my age.

Oh, and there is one other “act” I used to have! When I was in my 40s, newly single, and still slim, I used to go to a local coffee house on Saturday nights. All evening I would behave myself, but at midnight, when they closed, the band would strike up a rocking rendition of “In the Midnight Hour.” That was my cue to shout, “All right!” and jump out of my chair and dance like nobody was watchin’! Once they got over their surprise, the patrons loved it. That song still has that effect on me, but these days I don’t have the wind to get all the way through it!

It has become ubiquitous in the American culture to use “if” and “would” in the same phrase. It is especially prevalent among younger people just out of school or still in school, which makes me wonder, do their teachers say it, too, in their everyday speech?

You do not hear anyone over 50 saying, “If I would have known the item was on sale, I would have bought it today.” No one over 50 would say, “If they would have put up a sign, I would have found the place.” And certainly not, “I wish they would have told me.”

This use of the if/would combination implies an intention if given the opportunity; it does not mean that any action was taken or not taken.

“If I would have known” implies that I might have known, with a number of qualifications. It is indefinite at best. “If they would have put up a sign” makes me wonder what circumstances occurred to prevent them from carrying out their intention to put up a sign–if they had one. (They would have put up a sign, BUT…) And that is pure speculation. They might not have put up the sign even if they thought of it.

The solution to this dilemma is not to use “if” and “would” in the same phrase. You should say, “If I had known the item was on sale, I would have bought it today.” You should say, “If they had put up a sign, I would have found the place.” The element of intention is removed from the first part of the sentence: the point is that I didn’t know, and they didn’t put up the sign, so I didn’t buy the item and I didn’t find the place.

Let’s take the past participle off the shelf and give it back its rightful place, so that we who are over 50 don’t have to wince when we hear our children and grandchildren speak, or hear TV personalities speak. Don’t say, “I wish I would have known” when you mean, “I wish I had known.”

Oh, and by the way, how many times have you heard a speaker at a ceremony say, “I would like to thank so-and-so for this opportunity”? What’s stopping him or her from thanking so-and-so? It is no better to say, “I want to thank so-and-so.” Why not just come out and say the words, THANK YOU? Where’s our courage?