Lord Nelson, I Presume?

My favorite thing about Friday is that the only place I have to be is choir practice. There is something delightfully cathartic (and boy could I use the catharsis after the budding anger of dealing with an idiot boy yesterday) about choral singing. It was something that I didn't realize how much I'd missed it in the six years since I'd had the chance to do it. It was one of the worst things about working a job that required extended travel during two seasons and drop of the hat travel during the rest of the time if it came up -- I couldn't do art, or music, or theater because I could never guarantee that I could be there for rehearsal.

Now? Now Friday nights are choir nights. And even though it took a moment or two to get used to British choral terms (a quarter note is apparently a quaver here, which... it never occurred to me that terms would be different. I assumed it was like math, a universal language. But then, they also call it 'maths' here, so I can see where my logic is fundamentally flawed...) it was like riding a bike or pulling out a comfortable sweater. It just fits. I'm a singer, I always have been. The weight of the music in my hands and the awkward and humorous warm up exercises are like coming home.

And for a community choir, I am impressed at the level of difficulty they take on. Performing Haydn's Lord Nelson Mass for Christmas? Yes, please! Attempting Paul Mealor's Sabat Mater even though all of the vocal parts end up down in the basement for most of the piece? Of course! It's all new and challenging... and comforting. I've missed this, and I needed it.