Society of Stampaholics

Praise Band Recording for My Mommy

My mother doesn't get up to Indy very often - and usually she has to return home on Saturday night - so she's never heard her "precious baby" (that would be 46-year-old me) sing with the Praise Band at church. (Okay, she doesn't really call me "precious baby", but "Nut Job" just doesn't have the same ring to it.)

Just kidding, Mom!

(She's used to this sort of nonsense, having watched me grow up and all.)

So yesterday I finally remembered to bring my digital recorder to church AND (more importantly) to actually hit the "record" button. (I've managed to remember to bring the thing for several weeks now - this was supposed to be a Mother's Day gift, after all - but then I always leave it in my purse at the back of the church. I usually remember it about a third of the way into the second song.)

The audio file here is not of the whole Praise Band. Suzie wasn't there on Sunday, so I sang lead on one song and harmonized on the other two with Mike singing lead.

There are a few - ahem - issues. Although I am singing harmony on the first two songs, I am louder than Mike because the digital recorder was sitting right in front of me. This is annoying because I thought it would just pick up what was coming out of the speakers. 

Hey, what can I say? I'm a dumb-ass.

We also rearranged the physical set-up, so the drums are right behind me now. I suspect that I may be a trifle flat on the first verse of the first song. But if you can get past that, it should be okay.

The other thing is that In the Sweet By and By is right on my break and at 9:15 in the morning, I am not as vocally limber as one would wish. So I hit a few clinkers. Which is not to say I don't make mistakes elsewhere. I just don't remember them. And, no, I haven't listened to this recording because if I do I'll freak out and not post it.

Not that clinkers matter to the mommies of this world! The pitch-impaired still sound like angels to their mommies.

It's the rest of you poor suckers I'm worried about.

The good news is that you can just hit the stop button (unlike the poor people in the pews) if you don't like it.

So here it is: All the Earth Will Sing Your Praises, Trading my Sorrows, and In the Sweet By and By as performed by the Rosedale Hills United Methodist Church Praise Band. LIVE.

Oops... I almost forgot!

Happy Belated Mother's Day, Mom!!!

I love you.

Praise Band

In Memory of Norm Freese

I've had a rough week. It could have been much worse, but it was plenty difficult as it was.

A member of my church family, Mr. Norman A. Freese, died. Norm was born on January 2, 1932, so he lived a long and very full and rewarding life. He had four children with his lovely wife, Jean, and the youngest one - Walter - gave one of the most moving speeches I have ever heard at a memorial service. He listed His Top Ten favorite memories of his father. They were all wonderful and funny - down-to-earth and not sad at all. Except when Walt's voice would break and he would have to stop for a moment. Each time this happened, I cried, too.

I cried the hardest, perhaps, because I had never heard these stories, and they made me want to know Norm better.

Only the time for that is past. 

And I have to wonder why we haven't made it a tradition to honor people with a tribute when they're alive. Oh, sure, celebrities have their roasts, but why don't we have anything nice and pleasant for the rest of us? We ought to. We ought to share those stories and memories with others so they have a chance to get a little closer while we're still around, you know?

I knew Norm through our church chancel choir. He was a bass, and I was an alto.  He sat behind me until two things happened somewhat simultaneously: he decided to leave the choir for health reasons, and I was diagnosed as a soprano and promptly reassigned to the front row, stage left.

Norm was funny. I can't remember any of his lines, specifically, but they made me snicker on a regular basis. He was born in Queens, NY, and even after all this time in Indiana, you could cut his accent with a knife. Norm was very supportive of me joining the Praise Band, and he was always telling me to "step up" and "come out of my shell" and "just sing for Jesus, honey."

As a matter of fact, the last conversation I had with him was about a week before his death. He came up to me after church and told me he was so proud of me for singing out and sharing this gift God had given me.

And now I'm crying again.

I am a little concerned for his wife of over 50 years - Jean. She is legally blind, but the one daughter who lives in Indianapolis lives with her, so I'm hoping there will be no need to relocate Jean - either to a nursing home, or, worse, to the homes of one of her other children. I think it would hurt her terribly to leave her church family here and all of her friends.

Norm will be missed by many, many people. We all know he's with God and perfectly content now, but I hate how much it hurts me that I will never see him again in this world. However, I would rather have the hurt than forego the joy of knowing him.

God bless you, Norm, and thank you so much for all the brightness you brought into my life. The world lost one of the Good Guys when it lost you. 

I Have an Idea

This is going to be a short post. (Yes, Deborah can show self-restraint.)

I have had it. This mess in India has just pushed me over The Edge.

I am sick and tired of looking at the news every day and seeing headlines that tell me of all the horrible, rotten things people do to one another and all the horrible, rotten disasters, failures, and problems that we've got on this planet. Not that it's not important to know these things. It is. But I truly believe that an emphasis on the negative never did anybody any good. Too much of it can become overwhelming and, before you know it, nobody has the energy or the will or the strength to work on making things better.

So I came up with this idea about five minutes ago. Literally. It's a good idea, maybe even a great idea. But I need some help with it, I think. I'm going to either add a second page to this blog or look into starting a second blog (this is where I'll need some help in the beginning, especially).

I'll reveal more as time allows.

And now, just so you won't be too annoyed with my leaving you hanging, here is a very small story for your amusement.

As you may know, I have a six-year-old daughter named Gigi. (Actually, her name is Grace Gabrielle, but I call her Gigi.) You may also know that I sing in our church choir. And this is all the exposition you really need to have to enjoy this story.

The Christmas season is upon us and that means the Christmas Cantata is in the works. Our director gave us a CD with our individual parts to speed us along, (this is a brand new suite of music for us) and I have been dutifully listening and singing along with said CD in the car for about three weeks now. Luckily for me, Gigi likes these songs. (Otherwise I'd be subjected to an endless stream of whining for "real" music - which, for my daughter, means anything with a percussive emphasis  or classic rock'n'roll. She is fond of "Back in Black" for example, but she also likes the Beach Boys and Lynyrd Skynyrd. She's getting sick of Led Zeppelin, however, because they're getting waaaaay too much airplay on the station we listen to the most.)

So there's this one song in the cantata - swingy and upbeat and catchy - and at one point the music climaxes with the lyrics:

See, shepherds, hear, shepherds, rise above your fear, shepherds!

Listen to the song the angels sing!  

The other day, I hear my child singing this song while she's playing in her room. Of course, the words are patchy, but that's part of the fun of listening to a six-year-old sing. Now usually this is not that memorable, but I FELL OUT when I heard the following:

See, shepherds, hear, shepherds, blow it out your ear, shepherds!

Listen to the song the angels sing!  

And I'll leave you with that thought....

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Me and The Plan

Okay, I think I'm about to pitch a fit.

This last week has just been Outrageous.

OUTRAGEOUS, I say!

In addition to being too busy to breathe, I have lost not one, not two, but THREE (yes, count 'em THREE) blog entries because the internet is an evil place and I am a ninny for not writing my entries in Word and then cut and pasting it into the blog.

So this time, I am going to leave this wretched site and compose in the safe and hospitable environment that is Word.

 

I am now in Word. And to be extra safe, I am going to Save My Work every three minutes.

I was last found having some sort of neurotic reaction to the lack of caper appreciation at the local grocery. Of course, I was stressed as I had forgotten that it was the day of the Annual Church Picnic and, that being the case, I was required to produce a homemade Covered Dish or Dessert.

 

(Which I did not have and could not make because of my ridiculous schedule and brainless lollygagging earlier that morning.)

 

However, I had concocted A Plan while I was fretting my way through the grocery store. If I could stay very focused for the next 90 minutes, I had a chance of succeeding. It was quite simple, really. All I had to do was get to Praise Band rehearsal before church; sing, sing, sing at Praise Band rehearsal; then sing, sing, sing some more for regular choir rehearsal; then REALLY sing, sing, sing, SING in Praise Band before church (and try not to mess up spectacularly by losing focus, but which I ended up doing anyway when I dropped lyrics because singing about the Lamb of God made me think of this Gyros I had in San Francisco that came with capers, and how on earth could that grocery store manager not know what a caper was?!)

 

Although God is all-forgiving, I know that if somebody else were in charge, it would probably be considered heresy to mentally link the Lamb of God with a sandwich. They would just hand you a “Go directly to Hell” card and that would be it. Fire and Brimstone for eternity because you equated the Lord with lunch meat. (Personally, I like to think this sort of human idiocy entertains Him – kind of like the way my daughter sings “Hal-a-LU-la” or when she thought “Amazing Grace” was all about her (her given name is Grace.)  

 

And speaking of losing focus… where was I?

 

Oh yes, I would then attend church long enough for the Call to Worship, two hymns, the Sharing of Joys and Concerns, the children's sermon, the Scripture reading, the offering, the Doxology, and the choral presentation, but NOT for the sermon or communion because NOW is when The Plan kicks in. I will race home and make my Extra-Special Pasta Salad during Sunday School and will arrive, breathless but RADIANT, with my homemade Covered Dish at the Annual Church Picnic.

 

Which is not really a Picnic, to be honest, since we don’t eat outside. We eat inside because... well, I actually don’t know why we eat inside. We have a nice covered brick shelter with a dandy barbeque pit. But, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it in use. Well, I think we might have stood an amplifier on it last June when Praise Band performed at the Evangelical Committee’s Ice Cream Social…. Anyway, we eat inside, but then we go outside for our Hillbilly Golf Tournament and classic picnic games. 

 

All in all, I think we call it the Annual Church Picnic because the Annual Church Luncheon Followed By The Hillbilly Golf Tournament is just too much of a mouthful.

 

No pun intended.

 

As luck would have it, I DID manage to waltz in the door with seconds to spare.  Unfortunately, however, I put my Extra-Special Pasta Salad next to a very large pan of au gratin potatoes that I later learned were made by Marge Coffin, so it immediately turned into Get-That-Out-Of-The-Way-So-We-Can-Get-At-The-Good-Stuff Pasta Salad.

 

(Which is totally okay as this means more leftovers for me!)

Capers - An Endangered Species

Yesterday morning, I awoke very early for a Sunday - 5:45 a.m., to be precise. I tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. So eventually I got up and went about my business, thinking that for once I would be on time for Praise Band rehearsal before church. Something was nagging me, though. I felt like I was forgetting something as I lolly-gagged through breakfast. Then I went and lolly-gagged as I got dressed. And, of course, there was some major lolly-gagging while I sat at the computer checking out the news.

And then the lolly-gagging ended because I realized what I was forgetting.

The annual church picnic. To be held immediately after Sunday School. To which each parishioner was to bring one Side Dish or Dessert. (And it had better be homemade or you'll feel like a Loser.)

Aaaaaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhh!

What on earth was I going to do? I didn't have a Side Dish or Dessert! And I didn't have time to make one, either. I had lolly-gagged all my time away! I was supposed to be leaving right now. This Instant.

But first things first. I had to alert Spouse to the fact that today was the Annual Church Picnic. I think he was planning on taking a much-deserved respite from the world by Sleeping In. But one can't Sleep In on the day of the Annual Church Picnic! He took it better than I expected. (I suspect he was actually excited at the prospect of getting a run at Marge Coffin's cooking. Marge makes real food with real calories and real sugar and real fat and all the rest of that stuff nobody ever lets you eat anymore.)

A quick perusal of the cupboard revealed that I could make my Extra-Special Pasta Salad if I could get my hands on some feta cheese. And capers. And better get some more artichoke hearts while I'm at it. (I made up this recipe, so I have no idea how much of anything I put into it - I just eyeball it.)

So I'm off to the store - which is straight down the street from the church. If I am very quick, I will be able to get my stuff and make it to Praise Band rehearsal on time. Just barely.

Now you know - you just know - this couldn't be easy, right? But I am really annoyed that something so easy should go awry. I mean, that is just Wrong.

I want you to know that I marched right up to the Pickle/Relish/Condiments section and did not see a single caper! Nor an artichoke.

Who are the imbeciles running this store, anyway? Everybody knows that capers and artichokes are kept right HERE - right in with the relish and pickles and olives and other vinegar-soaked goodies. So where are the stinkin' capers and artichoke hearts?!

It occurs to me that perhaps the idiot stock boy has relocated them in canned goods, one aisle over. Fine. I'll just trot on over....

Only they aren't there, either.

I must be hallucinating. What self-respecting grocery would forgo carrying capers or artichoke hearts? That's just crazy. Surely I am looking right at them and just not seeing them in my crazed state.

But, no, I end up going up and down these aisles three times each. No capers. No artichokes.

No sales associates, either.

Go figure on that one.

I finally found one in Produce. She had the nerve to look right at me - actually had eye contact, mind you - and then tried to act like she didn't hear me saying, "Miss?...er...excuse me... Miss?" Well, I was not to be trifled with! I advanced like MacArthur returning to the Philippines  and asked her if she could point out the capers and artichoke hearts?

She looked at me like I had three heads and not a brain in one of them.

It came to light that, somehow, some way, this fifty-something-year-old woman had been working in grocery stores her entire life and had never heard of a caper, much less tasted one. How could anyone go through life ignorant of the tastiness of a caper?! The poor, unfortunate, deprived creature! What an injustice to devote your life to the Produce Section and never know the joy of a caper!

Perhaps if she had been in charge of Canned Goods....

But this was all beside the point. I didn't have time to mourn her caper-less existence. The clock was ticking!!!

She agreed to go with me to find the artichoke hearts. Which was a good thing, because I needed some moral support as I browsed the canned goods aisle one last time. And this time, I found them. They were technically in that section - but on the bottom shelf (they used to be on the top shelf - and with the pickles). Had they been demoted, I wondered? Would I find the capers similarly disgraced?

We'll never know because another pass of both aisles revealed nothing. And I had to go. But then a man came out of the back - a manager-type! - and he saw we were Clearly Looking for Something, so he came up and asked us if we were Looking for Something. What a relief, I thought.

"Yes, I need capers, and I'm in a hurry."

A blank stare.

A small frown.

"Capers?" He said. "Capers.... Is that some sort of vegetable?"

This can't be happening. Not even the manager knows what a caper is? Am I surrounded by nothing but frozen-food addicts? Is our cuisine so impoverished that grocery store personnel don't even recognize a Staple Ingredient when they hear of it (even if it is pickled)? The Greeks and Italians would be horrified if they were to learn of this.

So be it.

My Extra-Special Pasta Salad will just have to be Merely Special, I guess.

This is just so Wrong.