The Last Choir Concert of the Year

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Tuesday, the last choir concert of the year. It was one of those annual days where everyone gathered together again. It was a sort of reunion, really. And the day was accompanied by a fair drizzle. It was a dull sort of day, but that was sometimes the way of it. Sinai’s birthday celebration was at the church office at 11:30 that morning and Collette was to bring fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

Meanwhile, Monday afternoon, on the way to drop Collette off at the apartment, Mom, Rose, and Linnea came along as well and they stopped by Hallmark to purchase a giant card for Mrs. South, in apology as a whole for the choir’s behavior over the semester. Mrs. South had apparently been crying over their poor behavior once again. For the eight years that Collette had been in choir and the ten that Carrie had been in choir, it was a near-annual session of tears through which Mrs. South had come. And it was not terribly unusual, but it happened. There were always enough trouble-makers and gum-chewers, note-passers, twitter-pated youngsters, and chit-chatters to drive Mrs. South near over the edge every year. It was almost tradition. And then the choir rallied and she forgave everyone and they had never had a poor end-of-the-year performance since the beginning.

There had also been news of Aunt Petunia having a benign tumor, which had been giving her a great deal of pain. However, she was much better after having been rushed to the emergency room two evenings in a row, and would be fine, according to the doctors. Also, the Canadians had gone. Their butterfly wind chime had been taken down, and that was the last sign that they were gone for good.

“Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the ruins of her ice water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man’s dreams,
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

“And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered.