Thursday, December 14, 2006
Lest you think I lie about my choir director not liking me...
I have always stated that my choir director isn't too enamored of me. I think I am finally figuring it all out but he still gets under my skin. On my last nerve. Whatever.
This is the latest from him (sent to the choir as a whole):
I want to be careful not to send you too much sound from the monitors, especially since there is a lot of sound from the orchestra as a whole. I will be asking to brass to come down more to assist with this. Do your best not to oversing because of the level of music. I struggle with this myself, but we just have to trust things are being picked up in the mics.
Do you know what that translates to?
I do. Last night, the sound man came down and adjusted the microphone that was pointed directly at me down to the floor. Think that speaks volumes? And there are two of us who can carry things with no mikes, and she was at the opposite end of the row from me.
And you know what? I am STILL going to sing the way I sing, no matter who tells me to stop singing so loudly. I can sing, and noone is going to tell me to stop using that talent.
So there. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!
Now can you see why I struggle with singing?
I'm such a wallflower.
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.
The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.
TT # 21
This ominous feeling
Red Man Walking
Sponsored Post: Intern Town
Our Christmas cards...
Crazy family members
I spy with my binocular eye...
My worst dream came true last night....