Saturday, May 12, 2012

Hello darling, back from the literary reading at the local international arts colony. Dinner will be 'take-out' - a plate of BBQ -- ribs, salmon, potato salad, green beans, tossed green salad -- that probably I should have stayed there & mingled to eat, but -- well, no excuses, I don't know anyone, I wished to hurry home to write to you, I wanted to bring a treat of 'someone else's food' back to D, especially since, as hard as he works, he's the one who at the end of the day ended up cleaning up the kitchen from not only this morning's breakfast dishes but last night's too -- somehow the day got away from me.

I've been spending quite a bit -- well, not that much -- but an hour or so each day at the quiet rustic church, to which I feel so 'blessed' to have been entrusted with a key. The Rev Mother and I spent such a pleasant couple of hours earlier in the week, going over possible future 'service' music (incantatory chantlike intervals, that are interwoven into the service -- as opposed to hymns, which change every week). And she and I got to talking -- me seated at the organ, she on the very first pew in front of me that she noted -- as she sat down -- oh this must be the children's pew! -- it must be especially narrow in seat -- I've never seen anyone sit in it, and I guess the R.M. neither -- and there she was. Ah, those 1845 woodworkers thought of everything! Anyway, she settled herself near me, and we conversed, as we went through potential service hymns -- too flowery! NO! oh that's really lovely! and we ended up spilling out stories to each other, about this and that. And I suggested, you know, maybe I could play some sort of music - perhaps on the unobtrusive electronic keyboard [as opposed to honking-loud magnificent organ whose only mode seems to be forte - at a minimum -- and whose volume I can't modulate - if there's a way - I don't know it). And she was very excited by that notion -- and told me that very often there are "preludes" to a service, before it formally begins with a "Processional" hymn -- and as well, "postludes" -- played at the end of the service, after the Recessional. But the Rev. M. (such a delightful, colorful woman) observed -- oh but the congregation just runs out of here on the Recessional... and the 'postlude' is meant to be the organist's over-the-top (in a way) all stops-pulled, tour de force offering -- the organist's gift -- over and above -- I mean, for example, I am being awarded a stipend of $25 a week. And so my 'offering' might come in the form of 'showing my stuff,' as it were.

Anyway, I've spent some wonderful time all through the week, in the church, all to myself, working out possibilities for 'preludes' (very simple, meditative, hymns -- simply as unobtrusive background music) that I'll play at the electronic keyboard (which is very soft in volume -- although whose reverb, annoying, seems to rattle either the pipes of the organ (ah -- jealous rivalry) or some loose casing in a window -- I don't know -- some occult, distracting (un)sympathetic vibe.

I like that idea of the hired organist, being able, in the 'postlude' to volunteer an offering.

And so, earlier this evening, at the local international arts colony -- I've been attending readings there for several years now, and today I was chatted up by someone, a young man associated with the place, who asked me if I was a "Friend" of the arts-colony, and I said no -- I'm a blogger and a poor one at that. And he said, you can be a Friend by volunteering. And I said -- I had no idea that the place was ever looking for volunteers -- I'd be happy to. And so I've signed up... that will be my little offering -- showing people to their seats -- well, no, that doesn't happen there -- I don't know - putting out a camembert? arranging flowers? writing some PR copy maybe -- well, we'll see how my presence, and participation as a volunteer, will help --

anyway -- prelude -- oh always, dearest love, many kisses

postlude -- all stops pulled -- well you know what that means darling ---

ah but fortunately everyone fled right after the Recessional, so we have the place oh grrrrr (organ stops set (by Myles Davis) at oboe 8, sax 12, bass 97) to ourselves...

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