rlbourges

Spring, Sprang, Sprung

In Collage, Drafts, Music on February 27, 2014 at 8:54 am

On average, fifteen or sixteen people show up for the mid-week rehearsals. Last night, we waited almost a full hour before we had at least one voice in each range i.e. a total of seven people, including the leader/pianist/accordion player. All seven in great need of singing. We ran through the repertoire for the next concert, minus two numbers. The advantage to such a reduced ensemble: you can’t fake anything, nor can you let someone else’s voice carry a few notes while you take a breather. It’ll make for interesting listening – not for an audience, for the singers.

Today : last coaching sessions  before the two-week school break. Wouldn’t mind leaving town, here and there, if only for a few hours. Albi, Toulouse, heck, even neighboring Lavaur. The bus ride only costs two euro. Need to see other faces, other buildings, other storefronts. Need real-life reminders other places exist outside the views up the hill from the meetings or across the rooftops as seen from my window.

Spring all over the place. Daffodils, plum blossoms, dogwood. Hello? Already? Then, cold, cold rain. More crocus, primulas – zap, a full yellow carpet within hours.

Once – years ago – I left Lisbon in such a funk, I had to take a cab from the airport back to the hotel: I’d forgotten every scrap of paper in the desk drawer, including my passport and plane ticket. Once in Paris, I collapsed in the tiny hotel room, and stared at the ceiling, destroyed by the news I’d been selected for a job I didn’t want. I turned it down, recommended someone else for it. Paid myself the luxury of a flat-out breakdown, then travelled. Travelled and wrote. Wrote and travelled.

The pieces. The order in which they fall. Why a memory of coral-hued gladioli in a neighbor’s garden? Hot summer day, the sound of adults talking in those higher-pitched voices they use when socializing. Why the memory our Polish neighbors had a German name? The unlaid drain pipes had the smell of uncured cement; or maybe that was scent from the concrete slab laid down where once we had a field with dandelions, followed by tiny wild strawberries,  red clover, daisies, and the stalks of plantain we liked to strip of their seeds, when ripe.

 

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