This morning was the day! Well, I guess it was the morning, not the day . . . although morning is technically part of the day. Huh, I wonder how that works.
Let me start again. This morning was the end! No, that sounds far to dramatic. If I put that up on my blog someone will think I'm finished with my novel. Hah! Or, infinitely more interesting would be the end of my chocolate consumption. But don't worry, that's not likely to happen unless the world ends, and I'm pretty sure I can hold on with one, last pretzel M&M (which should make it past end of the world security) so I can say the world ended before I quit chocolate. Hey, everyone has to have a plan.
Hello, waaaay off topic.
Today was the day I got to sing in church. It must be said (and this is true, I'm not feigning false modesty here) that my sisters have taken and cultivated the musical talent in the family. I have a bit, but I left it behind somewhere between High School and the end of college. It's been replaced with writing and hitting things. Don't make that face, someone had to branch out and be “different”. Couldn't let the sisters do it all.
And that's why I asked them to help me! Okay, I whined and begged them to help me. One sings and the other plays the piano. I got to try my vocal chords at the alto part of a beautiful, but not particularly easy, arrangement of I Know that My Redeemer Lives. Well, it wasn't easy for me. We practiced four times this week just so I could get my notes right, and even then the piano playing sister had to add a few notes to the accompaniment so I could get it right. Still, I'm grateful for their help.
Everyone at church said the song was beautiful. Granted, most of my Relief Society is full of awesome women over the age of 70. Perhaps they couldn't hear me, or they just turned their hearing aids off (a trick my own mother plays). Still, they were nice and said we sounded good.
I'm just happy it's over. Hopefully I was unimpressive enough to make anyone think twice before asking me to do anything but lead the music.
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