Tonight was choir practice after a couple of weeks of going it alone with the practice CD.
Training the voice to match the notes on the page with sufficient quality, volume and breath support is a wonderful thing. Right up there on the highlights portion of my life. I love music!
While we were toiling along together to learn the various pitches, rhythms and parts that define the printed page, I realized that I needed to bring a cushion with me for next week.
One would think my overly padded derriere would provide ample support and coverage for the needs of comfort, but alas, it isn't true.
During the course of the night, I had my choir chair in the 'up' position and was sitting on the resulting sliver of chair as juxtaposed against sitting in the wide, spacious and padded luxury only a flip away.
The truth is that if I fold down the inviting pillowy surface to receive my posterior in its gentle embrace, I can't sing.
It's true. If my backside is comfortable, I can't sing well. It's probably due to the fact that nerves of consciousness run directly through each buttock. So when the rear end is kept totally happy, I lose the ability to make my diaphragm work and support the breath control needed to hold out notes of longer duration than four beats at march tempo.
Then there is the theory that if you are walking for your health that you should walk at a brisk pace but still be able to carry on a conversation. Once I hit that brisk pace, I discover that it isn't all it's cracked up to be and begin to wheeze like a broken down spavined mare at the tail end of a race career.
Such is the case during choir rehearsals as well. The first couple of weeks are more like a wheeze fest until my muscles remember that actual work is involve to suck in and push out all of that lovely life giving oxygen that people brag about being so necessary to life and limb.
The gals on my row and I have decided that we are going to smuggle in an oxygen tank and some of those little nose clips that offer a continuous feed of forced air in the hopes that we can make it through 10 measures of sustained singing without turning blue or passing out.
As for carrying on a conversation while singing... not bloody likely. That equipment is already in use trying to push up for notes that require a stepladder (who in the devil thought second alto meant I can sing a high C for any length of time?).
Last year, we gave our fearless leader a t-shirt from us wags in the back who always create musical mayhem. It boldly read, "This is Choir! Breathe on your own time!" Sister Draughon laughed out loud.
Over the years, I have come to appreciate that lung capacity is as variant in individuals as fingerprints. One might even say we all have lung prints. In my case, a childhood spent with various lung maladies one right after another scarred mine in a few places. That's always a fun topic of conversation with a new doc who asks for a chest X-ray. Then add in a light case of asthma and my lung print is sometimes pale and tragic.
But the good news is that during our rehearsal tonight I only had a couple of moments where I thought I was going to suffocate. They didn't last long. Which is probably for the best. Especially since dead people in the choir seats is somewhat disconcerting to other people. I figured that was poetic justice since most of the people in the congregation are dead or nearly dead.
Also, another worry is that if lung function is insufficent, I could cause a cascade failure like dominoes in full free fall that would make conference a veritable Keystone Kops episode. Picture the choir rippling to the ground from about the midpoint of the choir seats out. While I would be amused when I regained consciousness, other people aren't so broadminded.
Time and toil makes all better and with a pinch of luck and a metric ton of prayer for every note, I'll be able to sing the music and bear my testimony in song.
Should worse come to worse and my lungs not keep me upright and able to breath, remember that Smurf jokes are not considered Kosher for people who are unable to suck in any oxygen no matter what shade of blue my face is turning.
