I had a terrible case of Scope Creep yesterday, so it is perhaps fortunate that I had recently learned the name for the problem. While it isn't true that naming a problem is the equivalent of solving the problem, it does at least allow you to whine about it more effectively.

Would you like to see the school where I'm teaching?

Here is is. Specifically, this is the building where I teach. It is entirely possible that one of those top windows is my classroom. Someone with better visual-spatial skills than mine would be able to tell you for sure.

It took me a couple of weeks to find the doors.

I am in the Fine Arts department, and that is our ...mural... below. I'm not sure about using the word "mural." It is made of clay. Can it be a mural? Some of my fellow xangans will be able to tell us the correct tem. I wait eagerly for this.

I like being in the art department. It seems to me that writing belongs there, not in some random place near the business school.

This is true even though I am taking the position with my students that I'm a professional writer, I meet my deadlines, I expect them to meet theirs, and I don't even want to hear any airy-fairy stuff about inspiration or their needing to get their creative juices flowing.

I think they're listening to me. Thursday I handed back their papers. Everyone had done so well and I was so happy with them, and I told them so. There were all these As and Bs. They swarmed up to get their papers while somebody was writing on the board, and then there was a bunch of murmuring which interfered with continuing the class.

I never have this problem, so I stopped. "Okay," I said, "you need some time to celebrate before we go on?"

No such thing.

"Where are my comments?" one of the Ashleys asked me in an injured tone.

They are all named Ashley, except the ones interchangeably named Jason or Justin. I am of course subsuming all the Ashleighs and Ashlys and Ashlees in there.

Anyway, the others agreed. They were shocked and appalled that they hadn't gotten enough comments.

One boy (Justin, uinless it was Jason) said, "She gave them all to me," but mostly there was a sense that I had shorted them on the comments to which they are entitled.

I could have said that I had been online with the engineer all night except for that measly five hours of sleep, and had been too tired to think up anything to say, but then I remembered that I had been making rather a point of the importance of giving and accepting feedback. Not to mention the whole not waiting till the last minute part.

I quit apologizing and defending myself and instead said, "Thank you. That's good feedback for me. Next time, I'll make sure to give better comments."

So, yes, I had a bout of Scope Creep yesterday. This is when you have agreed to do something for a price and then the client wants more than that.

I had been delicately suggesting to The Computer Guy that one of our mutual clients might need some parameters and maybe should pay a deposit.

"They wouldn't be trying to be difficult," I said. "They'd just be sitting around one day and someone would say, 'Wouldn't it be cool---'"

"That's always how it starts," he said. "Scope Creep."

Yesterday's Scope Creep was about a client's need to make changes on the site. I say, "Tell your webmaster..." and if that doesn't work, then I tell their webmaster. That's how it works. When they don't have a webmaster, I introduce them to The Computer Guy.

But this client is like me: she can learn new stuff. She can do it herself. I just need to explain to her how to do it. She's willing to pay for my time as I explain it to her.

Of course I admire this. But I don't want to do that. I've done this sort of thing before when pressed, and I can tell you that it just leads to people wanting you to fix their hard drive. Last week I went up to The Computer Guy's office and he had a table full of laptops whirring away doing some kind of maintenance. After the client left, I said, "I thought you didn't do hardware." It was Scope Creep.

"He's special," The Computer Guy said shamefacedly. The trouble is, everyone becomes special.

So I determined to be firm. "I don't do that stuff," I said. "I do words. Even on my own site, they tell me, 'Fibermom, don't touch anything in red.' Sites work better when they're coded well, by experts."

She is determined, too. This took quite a while. I had a little parley with one of my pro bono clients and their webmaster. Then I worked for a couple of hours on linkbuilding for a site with relaxation audio. That's like relaxation tapes -- you know, you listen to them and someone tells you to relax your forehead in a soothing voice -- but now of course they're MP3s.  I found this quite relaxing, and it was a good thing, because my tutoring appointment didn't show.

This was fine, actually. I was working while waiting for him, and the menfolks tidied the living room a bit for the occasion, so when his mom called a couple of hours later, I was very relaxed and cheerful about it. I also -- and this is the part that I'm reporting -- rescheduled them for next week, not for later that evening or for today. It was my son's birthday yesterday, I have a phone conference today, I need to clean my foyer for the HGP, I need some time off. I haven't gotten my Minimum Daily Requirement of Lolling Around.

At 6:00, then, I almost turned off my computer. However, I got a call from #1 daughter. She really is special. She needed a domain name registered for a friend. I checked availability and we got that settled, and then the friend explained his plans. International safaris. We made some rough plans regarding his technology needs and I sent the domain registration request off to The Computer Guy with a heads-up about the likely future need for design work.

"This is my first big game hunter client, actually," I confessed, "so can't predict future needs well. Just the domain for right now."

There was a moment while I felt as though all the clients The Computer Guy brings into the mix are normal things like insurance brokers and pharmaceutical companies, and the ones I bring in are things like big game hunters. Which type is more conducive to Scope Creep, do you suppose? I don't know the answer to that question. It is possible that mine are more fun. I would claim this was because I was in the Fine Arts section, except that Sukey actually has a degree in Fine Arts, and as far as I know she never shows up with big game hunters.

So today is for domestic activity, including the procurement of a birthday cake. Yes, it's late. I'm claiming that it's because everyone had to work yesterday and the grandparents are celebrating with us tomorrow, so yesterday was the present segment of the birthday and today is the cake and tomorrow is the lunch out part.

It was the fault of the Scope Creep.

Before I got comments and emails recommending cookies, I had already gone to the farmers market and had a bouquet of flowers made. The Computer Guy said he put them on his table so he could appreciate the beauty of them and they gave him energy, so I guess that's okay. Cookies next time.

Various abstruse things are now being done with my website, but I've written it all and the art is finished, so it should be launched just any day now. I hope.

The choirlet started work on the Advent and Christmas music last night.

Usually, choirlet rehearsals are a matter of a group of ladies hanging around on a porch singing gospel music for a bit and then having cake. Last night was different.

First, we're working on John Rutter's "Christmas Lullaby" for Christmas. We're also doing "What Sweeter Music," which you can hear at the same link. I was making the ladies work on the hard bits of the song measure by measure. We don't usually do this, but really it's the only way to get a good sound on something challenging. They took it in good part.

Then we had to make a list of Advent music. We have five songs a week in the early service, and there are four Sundays in Advent, so we needed about 20 Advent songs. This church has not done Advent carols at all in the past, so this is a new departure. Mostly people were cooperative on this. However, there was some dissatisfaction.

"Aren't we going to sing any of the old songs?" one asked, meaning Christmas carols.

"We're getting so far away from what we started with," bemoaned another, explaining that she meant there weren't any country songs on the list.

I'm going to try to find some country Advent carols. However, I think the problem is that the songs she's thinking of -- things like "Just a Little Talk with Jesus" -- are very low church, and Advent is at least slightly high church.  

There was also some dissatisfaction with the idea of singing the Christmas songs on Christmas Eve.

"This isn't our decision," I said firmly. I explained the whole Advent Marketing 2008 concept.

We'll see what comes of all this.

I bored told you yesterday about my inability to get connected with Dreamweaver. The Computer Guy suggested a web conference and I agreed. So after rehearsal, I IMed him and he set up a web conference.

I think I was expecting something like enhanced IM. Nope. Stuff took place on my computer and then I got a notice saying The Computer Guy wants the mouse and keyboard. I agreed to that. An IM came; "I want the mouse and keyboard."

"So I hear," I answered, or words to that effect. "You can have them."

"I'm taking over. Sit back and relax."

It seemed like a good line. Maybe it could be in a movie, though it would have to be about something like... hmm.. airplanes, maybe. Not recalcitrant computers.

Anyway, I sat back and drank my tea, and The Computer Guy took over my computer. The cursor skittered around and screens came and went and occasionally I was asked to do something I didn't know how to do (change my screen resolution? huh? Tell you what, I'll shut down #1 son's music pirating activity. How's that?). It was like having aliens invade my computer. Maybe. I've never actually had that experience, so I can't really compare.

Anyway, I was able to get in and write my website. I signed off at 11:00, and when I came back at 4:30, with an inspiration for the remaining bits that I hadn't done the night before, more things had been done. So maybe elves, not aliens.

The Computer Guy was still there, though not in my computer.

"Did you sleep?"
"No," he answered. "I forgot to sleep."

Yeah. He's young. I never forget to sleep. I may not sleep a whole lot, but I do sleep.

Before this adventure -- and this means that my website will be launched really soon now, so I'm excited about that -- I had class and bells and choir.

Class and choir were about the usual. In bells, we had four bellringers.

I have seen #2 daughter and her high school BFF play 17 bells between them. Our bell choir isn't like that. We played through an interesting arrangement of "Nearer, My God, to Thee" which seemed to be designed to sound like a tenor banjo, and Faure's "Pie Jesu," which is stunningly gorgeous but not perhaps on handbells, with about 10 notes total. At one point, BigSax insisted that I go get the C sharp and play it, over my strident objections. I had four bells.

I'll give you a moment to marvel at the thought.

Actually, as long as I'm somewhere near C and someone alerts me to key changes, I don't even have to circle all my notes on the music any more. I sight-read a piece in choir later and was pretty chuffed at how well I did. Secretly, of course. I'm not good enough at it to be excited about it publicly, but I'm better than I used to be, and that's nice.

I'm teaching this morning, and I have work to do this afternoon, and I may stop by The Computer Guy's office with flowers.

I thought of cookies. In fact, I discussed the possibility with La Bella.

"I don't want to be too motherly and mess up our excellent working relationship," I pointed out. "They're all in their early twenties."

"Yes," she said, "but cookies! They'd love it!"

My sons would way rather have cookies than flowers, I know.

Maybe wine?

In class last night we were informed that "a black hole was supposed to swallow the earth. It was supposed to be last Wednesday."

The topic was the Large Hadron Collider.

Wednesday is a good day, because I don't have to drive to the Next County. Although I am driving there two days a week, on the freeway, and not being terror-stricken for very much of that time, though I am always tired at the end of it.

My Aussies are happy with the work I've done for them and want to come on board for Dark Art Lite, though of course I don't use that term professionally. I found these guys through oDesk, and I was very happy to hear from them this morning, because I had sent their report off with a little note that probably sounded as though I were sending them off to college.

"Don't hesitate to write if you have questions!" it said "Keep me posted! I hope you have wonderful results! Don't forget to wear a sweater!" Maybe not exactly that. But you know, I check everybody's analytics anxiously every morning, and exult when they're doing well and strategize if their numbers -- God forbid! -- go down. I was feeling as though I were sending them off to make their site improvements and I'd never know how it came out.

Client #2's traffic is up 58% and my New Mexican is just shooting up. I'm not through with her initial hours, and she has already hired me on for another project. I also have a new guy, eight hours, and my students are gratifyingly excited about their improving writing skills. "This paper is so much better," one told me when she turned her essay in yesterday. And they really are improving. I had them do an in-class assignment in small groups yesterday and you should have heard the clever thing one group wrote about fractals. Except FERPA forbids me to tell you these things, so I'll stop there.

So, yes, all those things are good, especially the whole not getting swallowed by a black hole part.

But also I can't get into my website to do the content. Dreamweaver keeps telling me that the server is busy and the other program is busy and all these "really it's not my fault it's the other guy" kinds of excuses for not hooking me up. And also taunting me with how few days I have left in my free trial. And a guy for whom I wrote a nice family business two generations here in the area call us up and Mr. X and all the little Xs will take right good care of you sort of website has said that he wants it just like that but with no names or other clues to the identity of the people, which is a lot like asking for a recipe for chocolate cake to be rewritten without the chocolate part. And another person for whom I've done a nice job of keyword development and linkbuilding wants me to help figure out the internal linking structure of her site, which is not only an example of Scope Creep, but also rather beyond my capabilities. She was asking me about colors, too, and I finally just had to say firmly that search engines don't see colors so that was outside my purview. Oh, and The Computer Guy's reports are so gorgeous that it has caused me to realize that my reports are sort of shabby looking. Or, as The Computer Guy puts it, "so 2003." So that's another thing to worry about.

But at least we didn't get swallowed by a black hole.

"If you're a solfege person," the director said suavely, "it's mi-sol-sol-do."

This may not sound like the sort of thing a person could say suavely, but this director is always very suave.

An hour or so earlier, The Computer Guy had said, "I'm a control C/ control V person." Me, too.

But are these reasonable ways to define ourselves? I guess they're no different from being "a meat and potatoes man" or "a Cosmo girl," but aren't those kinds of statements supposed to define a person in some larger way? If you say that someone is a cat person or a dog person, you're offering a whole gestalt of hearty dog-loving tramps through the woods and dog's head on your knee by the fire later versus quiet and quirky unspoken companionship, aren't you?

So what can you deduce about me from the fact that I'm a control C/ control V person, but only marginally a solfege person?

Good luck with that.

Yesterday I did a couple of hours each for the New Mexican and the Aussies, a couple of blog posts, and then went up to meet with The Computer Guy to learn how to get into my website and put the words in, and then on to rehearsal, where I am also doing some pro bono website assistance. Except that there may or may not be a website. The director figured I could design something, and of course I could, firmly ignoring the whole conversation The Computer Guy and I had about what's wrong with amateur web designers. But the idea of having a place to put the page was a new one to the people I was talking with.

I completely understand that. I think there was about a year during which I was doing web stuff and couldn't figure out how you actually got things onto the internet. But the Master Chorale is part of the university, so I intend to hold out pretty hard for a university web page.

When I got home at 9:00 p.m., my husband had made dinner. I appreciated that enormously, let me tell you. There have been times before when my schedule precluded my making dinner at any normal time and I've come home at 9:00 or so to find a houseful of guys waiting for me to cook for them.

This morning I awoke to several intriguing and challenging work-related emails. Problem-solving is fun, isn't it? Not when the problems are things like how to pay tuition or what to do about broken appliances, of course. There's no fun in that at all. But when you've done a nice little "About Us" page focusing on the two generations of pride in a local family business, and they say it's great except they don't want any mention of the family or their name, then that's a tasty bit of a challenge, right?

I have a class to teach this morning, and some basic computer stuff to do first, and then a whole bunch of stuff to do this afternoon. I want to get my homework for my Tuesday class in there, and gym time. Or possibly just a walk. The problem is that if I don't just go to the gym at gym time, I think to myself that I can just take a walk at any time, and then very often I don't take a walk at any time, because I get these emails...

After the church services yesterday, we sang at a luncheon to honor a member of our church, Theressa Hoover, a very impressive woman. She grew up under segregation, spent her life working tirelessly for equal rights here and around the world, and then returned to her hometown after she retired, to spend twenty more years so far among her friends and family. She never married or had children, and has not by any means had a limited life because of that. We got to see pictures of her as a lovely young woman in the 1940s, and to hear streams of people talking about the effect she had on their lives, and she took my hands in her very soft hands and thanked me for the music, so I got the chance to experience her charm up close. Being charming was a big part of her success, I think, but her being bold and organized was what people spoke about. That and what a wonderful role model she was and is for all of us, and for women in particular.

I've proposed to the encyclopedia that they let me write an entry for her.

Among other things, we sang a hymn that was written in her honor, and we had the family crying, so that's a good sign. When she was my age, she had already been instrumental int he fight against apartheid, so I doubt that I will deserve to have a hymn written in my honor when I am the age she now is, but wouldn't it be cool? It's quite a nice hymn, too.

With my house nice and tidy, I was then able to hang out with the family and do some more work on Erin's bands.

I figured out Dreamweaver, more or less, and got some chili into the freezer. It is Foyer Week on the HGP. This is of course the time to dust the chandelier in the foyer and refresh the loose covers on the loveseats. However, I don't have a foyer, so I use this week to clean out the coat closet by the four square feet of tile that constitutes my entry. You should also put another meal in the freezer, and a batch of holiday goodies of some description.

Last year, my sons ate all the cookies from the freezer before we got anywhere near Christmas, but I feel sure that they will have outgrown that by now.

Today I have people from Arkansas, New Mexico, and Australia to work for. I really hope to be able to work on my own website as well, though I recognize that this desire is unrealistic, not only because of the time factor (I have a rehearsal tonight, which puts an end point on my work today) but also because I've not yet heard back from The Computer Guy on a time for him to show me how to get into it. Lest this sound as though he's dragging his feet, I should point out that I last heard from him on Friday night. The fact that I am able to say "I haven't yet heard from him" under those circumstances shows that I have become a computer guy.

However, I am a computer guy with a tidy work space and cranberry bran muffins fresh out of the oven, so it could be worse.

 The living room is clean, and the bathroom and kitchen as well. It's not very Zen; you can tell that a lot goes on there, and of course there are still dogs lying around, but it's clean.

The guys helped me, more or less. My husband was the "more" part and the boys were the "less." #1 son in particular. He hardly did a thing, and what he did he whined about or asked many many questions about how to do it.

I had to wonder whether the mothers of some of the great men of our time had this experience. Were there days when the mothers of Bob Dylan, Albert Einstein, or Thomas Edison felt that they were completely worthless? Later, when they went on to distinguish themselves, did the mothers think, "Well where was all that energy and skill when I needed them to do their chores?"

The client meeting was successful. It's a non-profit, and I really like this woman. In fact, I offered to write her content for free. She really likes #2 daughter's website, and in fact wants her organization's to be just exactly like it, with a few little changes -- like not using #2 daughter's picture. So I am hoping to persuade The Comptuer Guy to allow my client to use the design, assuming he makes the changes for her. I could make the changes myself, frankly -- we're talking about replacing three lines of code and the content -- but she is quite properly prepared to pay for the design. So, as I say, I offered to throw in the content. If they want more SEO in the future, or something, they can pay me then.

She really enjoyed the hex codes. People for whom hex codes are just a handy means of communication (me, for example), forget how totally fun they are when you first run into them. Here is a very fun tool, which we played with quite a bit, choosing among malibu and cyan3 and making the browns more and less red.

As I say, I really like this woman. I might not have spent an hour that way for just anyone.

I enjoyed  my relaxing evening. Actually, the whole afternoon and evening were pleasant and quiet, since the menfolks left the building and didn't return till fairly late in the evening. I had a nice cup of tea with the client and worked out a plan, and then she left and I lolled about reading novels, listening to the rain, and knitting up Erin's button band. You can see Erin's actual colors on the right, and then below you can sort of see the button band, or the button band as it might look in hell or something.

When my husband got in, he watched a TV biography of Sarah Palin, so I gave up the whole idea of peace and quiet and got up to speed with Dreamweaver.

I like Dreamweaver a lot. Not as much as InDesign, but still, quite a lot. By the end of my 30-day trial I might really really like it, especially as The Computer Guy is supposed to show me how to use it properly.

 I was trying to calculate what I'd have to do to be able to buy both Dreamweaver and InDesign, in addition to paying for my dental work and #1 son's tuition. It is unlikely.

However, the truth is that while the programs in whole are both great -- and different -- for design and layout stuff, one text editor is very like another. Dreamweaver, InDesign, Notebook, Visual Studio, WordPress, Blogger, clay tablets with sticks... For me, those software packages, in the absence of book contracts, would really just be toys.

Sigh.

Yesterday I had lunch with Janalisa and got caught up on her events. I went to the gym in the morning, and got all my work done. I finished the green Touch Me scarf I was knitting, and completed the knitting of the major parts of Erin. I now have to put it together and get going on the bands.

On Monday it will have been five months since I became unemployed and then self-employed. I'm feeling pretty much on top of things professionally. I have my hardware, most of my software, and a good start on the necessary skills. I have some degree of order in my accounting, and my website ought to launch this week. I even have a working wardrobe, at least by my standards. I'm averaging one new client a week and doing as well financially as I was when I was salaried, and sometimes rather better.

It seems reasonable to me that for the first few months of my unplanned and disorganized switch to self-employment, I should have focused so narrowly on business. Since I am now a Computer Guy, it even seems reasonable that I should have been drawn into the Computer Guy ethos and spent way too many hours eating delivery pizza while working at the computer.

Enough, though. Janalisa pointed out that, far from thinking, "Gosh, it's only 11:00 p.m. her time, so why did it take her 20 minutes to get that spreadsheet to me?", clients will consider me more valuable if I am less available -- at least to the point of saying, "You're on my calendar for Monday."

And I want a normal life again, complete with marriage, family, friends, spiritual practices, outside interests, a pleasant home, and a reasonable level of self-care.

I have an advantage over many women who make this declaration, in that I already have a husband, kids, friends, church (even if my involvement there has lately rather descended to the level of mere work rather than spirituality), outside interests, and a gym membership. I even have a pleasant home, or will have once I get back to housekeeping properly.

Yesterday afternoon, I was talking (via computer) to The Computer Guy. He was telling me about his presentation for the Chamber of Commerce, and I was sending off a site analysis and three pages of suggested changes to my client in New Mexico, hoping it wouldn't make her feel as though she were paying me for slapping her around. I told him that, since it was Friday and his birthday, he should quit working for the day. IMHO.

"I'm Working on Not Working," he typed back.

Me, too.

This week on the HGP, we are to buy extra flour, sugar, and shortening for holiday baking. We are supposed to order our Christmas cards, though I usually wait and get a box on the cheap at T.J. Maxx. If you have yours done with family photographs, this is the week to take that picture and order them. I did that last year, because we had the amazing luck to have all the kids together at one time, and therefore we had a family picture. It may never happen again. You should also put a meal in the freezer, and I am planning on chili. This is the last day of Living Room Week, and I have clients coming over this afternoon, so this morning will definitely be spent cleaning the living room.

Oh, and doing a quick site analysis for those clients. But after they leave, I intend to relax with novels and knitting and enjoy my clean living room, and also my family.

Each week, I have four rehearsals. I've been off from most of the them for the summer, so this was the first week that I've been back on that schedule, and the differences among them really struck me.

Master Chorale is singing the Fauré Requiem, and if you click here you can see and hear the "Pié Jesu," one of the most familiar bits of it. It's all over YouTube as well, if you wanted to hear it performed. And why wouldn't you? It's got to be one of the most lovely pieces of music ever written. #1 son is also preparing for it, but #2 son says it's "too epic." It is epic, can't deny it, but there are sections of this that just make me feel that life is worth living because it exists.

Admittedly, I've never felt that life wasn't worth living, but if I ever did, I bet this would fix me right up.

Anyway, in Master Chorale we have no problem with working on an entrance for ten minutes, or considering the imagery of a passage at great length. We work hard, we don't fool around except during the cookie break (well, yes, we do have a cookie break; I don't know whose idea it was, but it usually involves grapes and water as well as cookies), and we sound fantastic when we perform.

Bell choir is of course quite different, because I am so bad at it. Oddly enough, we also worked on something from the Requiem: the "Pié Jesu." I am playing the low B, B flat, and C. I am, I am pleased to say, a lot better than I was last year. This is not that good, since I was phenomenally bad last year.

We lost three of our ringers, so BigSax has to play, which essentially means that we have no director. At a fermata, we look up and gaze around wildly to get a clue, and often the director stops the whole rehearsal entirely and counts us back in for the note after the fermata. This is okay, since by this time we are normally completely snarled up.

We are doing "Nearer My God to Thee" with a combination of plucking and malleting and ringing that is supposed to remind the listener of a tenor banjo.

"I can't get the idea of what we're aiming at," I complained. Complaining is de rigeur in bells.
"Do you know the song?" asked BigSax, frowning.
"Yes," said I. "I think that's part of the problem."

The experienced ringers say just to count, ignoring the fact that there may appear to be too many notes in a measure. Ignore everything else, they say, count steadily, keep your eyes only on your own notes, and ring when you think you should. I think this is why our rehearsals are a terrible cacophony. However, there is also the fact that sometimes they have turned the page before me and I have to cry out, "Where are we?" in a plaintive voice.

That probably doesn't help.

Directly after bells, and also with BigSax, is choir. The organist had a piece of music for me on Wednesday. He was arranging three part harmony and accompaniment. I was going to take it at the beginning of the rehearsal, but he was still working on it.

"There's so much talking," he explained, "that I figure I can finish it up."

I am putting that into words for him. Actually, he only said the first half and then gestured the second half, but I knew what he meant.

It's true about the talking. About 40% of the rehearsal is composed of bickering. Then the basses talk absolutely all the way through the entire thing, unless they are actually singing. For example, if the sopranos are singing in one section and the basses are not, they talk.

My theory is that they are all a bit deaf, and they think they are whispering.

The bickering consists of things like this:

"I have 'me' written in over the B."
"Yes. Since the note is tied, it makes more sense to have the new word there, instead of on the C."
"Just the sopranos?"
"I have it written in for everyone."
"Well, only the sopranos have that tied note."
"So they're going to do that and the rest of us aren't? It should have been written that way."
"Well, I'm going to. That's what I have written."
"No, see the sopranos have a tied note."
"So what? They could just sing 'me' on the C."
"You can't sing a new word in the middle of a slur."
"That's not what I have written. I don't think this was my music."
"Let me see it. No, that's Suwanda's music."
"Is that my music? Well, I want that one then."
"Not you, the other Suwanda. The one who moved to Hot Springs."
"No, it can't have been her. She wasn't a soprano."
"That's what I'm telling you. We all should sing the 'me' together."

Yes, well. You can see why we don't always get a whole lot of fine-tuning done. The goal in this choir is to sing the notes and words at roughly the right moments, and more or less together. That's all. It has always reminded me of singing around a campfire, or on a tour bus.

The fourth rehearsal of the week is the choirlet on Thursday evening. We have a mix of people who care what we sound like and people who don't give a flip, and no director. We sit around on LL's porch singing in close harmony. It sometimes happens that no one chooses to sing melody, and then I make us stop and hash out who's going to sing what. Otherwise, it's just lots of singing. Last night, I broached the subject of Advent carols and we hauled out some songbooks and sang through a bunch with enthusiasm, calling out numbers when we found a really cool one. It's all women, and we have sung together enough that it's almost like family singing.

At some point, someone will say, "I'm all sung out" or "Are we through?" and then we adjourn for tea and cake and conversation.

Having all these rehearsals every week means that I am frequently emailing clients, "I have a rehearsal, but I'll have that for you in the morning."

Today I have a writer, a subliminal MP3 manufacturer, and several blogs to do. I also have lunch with Janalisa, which will make a nice break in the middle of things.

TGIF!

I've just insisted that #2 son go to school even though he's way too tired. I told him that I understood, and I think it's true, because I myself am way too tired. This is because I stayed up late grading papers and then got up early, though not as early as I should have if I am to get all the papers graded before class. And the blog posts. And emails with clients. My Australians just wished me a pleasant weekend, and I thought they were earlier than I am. I think it likely therefore that my having told them I'd be theirs on Monday morning, when I was thinking it would be Monday afternoon, was perhaps not what I meant.

And here I was thinking that we'd have no communication problems as long as we didn't have to discuss food.

However, it may just mean that they party hearty there, and begin the weekend early in order to have plenty of time for barbecuing shrimp and playing volleyball on the beach. This fits better with my stereotype of Australians.

#1 son is enjoying school, and getting better on his instruments, even the piano. His piano teacher sounds like a mean person.

"She's old, so she's kinda bitter," he explained.

Fortunately, he was in the kitchen calling this out to me as he made a sandwich, so he couldn't see me helpless with laughter. Especially since it is completely possible that his piano teacher is my age. I remember that, when I was #1 son's age, we thought that 26 was a sophisticated grown up age and people over 30 were all just indistinguishably old.

It was the idea of people automatically becoming bitter as they grew old, like maybe 45, that I found so funny.

So many of the older ladies I know are raucously happy old ladies who giggle like teenagers. They don't flip their hair around as much, perhaps, but otherwise they're a lot like young people.

We'll probably never know the secret sorrows that caused the piano teacher to become bitter.

I'm running late and have lots to do, in addition to being way too tired.

My Tuesday class group leader confided that she sleeps only from midnight to 5:00 a.m. That's roughly what I did last night. I think that, if I did that all the time, it would make me become bitter.