Mike and I went to the Home Show today. On the way home, we stopped by the place where we met, which is fitting since our anniversary is next Saturday. Read more about it over here.

Today is my father’s 80th birthday. As many of you know, I’ve had an ambivalent relationship with my father since my mother’s death, but to his credit, he tries to come and see LG when he can. He’s been to all of her birthday parties. Last year, he spent Christmas with us while She Who Shall Not Be Named was out of town. So, he’s trying.

My dad was here Saturday for LG’s party, of course. I thought, as I watched him walk to the door, that he looked very old. Mike’s dad is only 2 years younger, and I doubt anyone who sees him would believe he’s only 2 years away from 80. My dad is doing all right, though. He’s hanging in there and he still gets out and about.

Today is also Pearl Harbor Day. My dad turned 14 the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

I thought I was done. I really did, but Laura’s comment on the last post mentioned an event that must be recorded for posterity, and besides, it will end the series on a funny note rather than a sad one.

Okay, I have to give you a bit of background for this one. We were not only working with the teen choir during most of those years, but also another church that was affiliated with a local Catholic high school (not the one we work with now). And on Easter morning one year, we had to do manage to be two places at once. Well, not exactly, but Mike and I were basically two ships passing in the night. We did Easter Vigil on Saturday night at the high school chapel, then Mike did a band gig, then I got up at some godawful hour of the morning and did Sunrise Service with the teen choir and our other pianist, then came home and went back to bed and Mike got up a little later and did Easter morning service at the high school chapel. Yeah. Fun stuff! But that’s not the main story.

The teen choir got stuck doing the Sunrise Service because no one else wanted to do it. And trust me, that is a true statement. I think it was 6 am. Outside in the courtyard of the church. Chilly. Early. Half asleep. In all our Easter finery.

Mike wasn’t there, so it was up to me and the pianist to try and make things work. And it did work pretty well for the most part. That is until the pianist and the flutist started playing two different songs. Which wouldn’t have been totally horrible except for the fact that one of them was in A and one was in Ab. If you’re not a musician, you may not know how bad that is. But if you know anything about music at all, you’ll know it was not pretty. Not one bit. The pianist stopped playing the intro and the flutist kept going so it did stop sounding like a dying cow, and we did get back on track, but oh. my. gosh. I was standing up in the choir singing with the kids and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop the trainwreck. But, it did right itself eventually. I will never forget that moment. The sinking feeling in my stomach. The look of terror on the pianist’s face. All the kids turning to look at me to see what to do. All I could do was shrug and wait for them to fix it. Which they did. And looking back on it now, it’s pretty darn funny really. And a story that we relate often when we talk about big music booboos. Mike wasn’t even THERE and he still tells the story…lol! Ah, the joys of live music!

Okay, I think I’m really done now. Unless I remember something else. You just never know. ;)

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

I’ve sort of been dreading writing this chapter because it was a really emotional time for us. And it brings back some painful memories. But, that which does not kill us makes us stronger right?

The choir was chugging along - even though most of what we might call the “core” of the choir had graduated high school and gone off to college here, there and everywhere. But they came back and joined us when they were in town, and new kids joined and kept the choir going.

Then one day it all came crashing down around us. In a way that still makes me angry - not so much for us, but for the way the kids were treated. Mike was called to the church for a meeting with the pastor (and I use that term loosely because I still don’t think he was very pastoral during this situation). At this meeting, he was given the letter that the pastor had mailed out to the choir members that day. And it basically said that he thanked Mike and Karin for their years of service, but that he had hired a music director for the parish. In other words, we were fired. Oh wait. We weren’t actually fired. We could stay and “work with him” if we were inclined to do so. Um yeah. Stay and work with someone else in charge of our baby that we had so carefully nurtured and loved and raised? Not going to happen.

But don’t focus on that. Focus on what I said a few sentences back. Mike was given a letter to read that had been mailed to the choir members that day. So, the “pastor” had sent a letter to teenagers to tell them that their choir directors (whom I believe they loved) were not going to be their choir directors anymore. A letter. An effing letter. (Bitter still? Not really - only when I think about it.) It’s bad enough to treat adults that way. But kids? If I’d been in that meeting, I’d probably still be in jail. Ugh.

Anyway, Mike came home and had to tell me the news. I honestly don’t know what he went through on the drive home, but I can’t imagine it was very pleasant, because we were both devastated. But there was NO. WAY. we were going to let the kids find out that way if we could help it. So, we called each and every one of them so we could tell them the news personally. We didn’t get to talk to all of them before they read the letter, but we sure tried our best.

I think the thing that sticks out in my mind more than anything that night was me sitting at our piano just banging and banging on it - not playing - just banging - a cacophony of sound - the sound of my anger - and sobbing and sobbing as though my heart was breaking - because it was. And I remember Bob (the dog) coming up to me amidst all that crying and piano banging and nuzzling up to me trying to make me feel better. And that still makes me cry to this day, thinking about that sweet dog trying to comfort me.

So, there it was. The end of an era. We still had a few weeks, and the final mass to do. I know there were a lot of people there. I know the pastor didn’t dare show his face. Actually, I tend to think that the associate pastor, Fr. L, asked to do that mass (we still exchange Christmas cards with him even after all these years - such a wonderful lovely man and truly pastoral). I don’t remember who all was singing with us to be honest. But I do remember singing The Lord’s Prayer that Mike had written one last time at that church, at that mass, with our kids, and barely making it through without crying.

After we left, the new music director came in - and the choir that we so lovingly built died - for all intents and purposes. He was not really a choir director. He was a solo artist. I know that at least some of the kids sang with him for awhile, but they weren’t the main focus anymore - he was - and so it withered away.

We moved on and found a new church home - the place where we still are today. And life went on.

I learned a few things, though. One, no one is irreplaceable. Two, things do happen for a reason - I can’t imagine my life without the people that are in it now. And three - memories can never be taken away from you.

So, to Laura and B* and all the kids that made up that wonderful beautiful choir, thanks for sharing your lives with us for those few years. It helped shape who we are today. We will always love you guys. Always.

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

This is going to be a short one, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the “graffiti”. I think I mentioned in the first post that our drummer used to write all over her drums and her music, but she was not the only one. ALL the kids wrote all over their music. And drew goofy pictures. And just generally made their music look like high school students notebooks with all the doodling and notes.

It was actually quite entertaining and Mike and I laughed ourselves silly reading it some weeks. And before we left the choir, we did make a graffiti page with some of the best catch phrases and drawings of the lot. We looked all through our music files and elsewhere trying to find it so that I could scan it and post it here, but we had no luck. I’m sure it’s somewhere, but not where we could find it on short notice. I’m really sad about that, too, because it was really funny stuff. Oh well.

Tomorrow night should be the conclusion of Flashback Week. Thanks for your indulgence!

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

One of the staples of a youth group program at a church (at least in Arizona) is the trip to the California amusement parks. We were lucky enough to go as chaperones one year and got to stay in the designated “hospitality room”. Which meant that our room was the “hangout room”.

Things I remember about the trip…several of the kids hanging out in our room, Mike falling asleep and not waking up until the kids all were leaving, because it got quiet. In other words, he slept through all the loud raucous giggling and talking and silliness and woke up when it stopped. Go figure.

Going to Universal Studios for the first time and seeing the Backdraft exhibit. My dad was a firefighter when I was growing up and it was a powerful experience for me.

And Sea World. What do I remember about Sea World? Well, I remember yelling “Becky” across the Shamu stadium to get each other’s attention. And the “ooh oohs”. It’s hard to explain the “ooh oohs” in writing. You have to hear them. Suffice it to say they were loud and when you heard them, you knew they belonged to someone you knew.

It was a lot of fun. Not much sleep, but we were young and we could handle it. Even sleeping on a bus. ;)

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

I’ve already mentioned the fact that we got married after we had started working with the teen choir and that several of the kids came to our wedding.

But two years later, to the month, our flute player and one of the guitar players (who had followed us over from another church) got married as well. And the kids went to that wedding, too. In fact, they were involved in the wedding - they all sat together in the church, and during one of the songs, they stood and sang with me or instead of me - don’t remember which (since I was the soloist and matron of honor - don’t try that at home). It was a really special moment.

Another special moment was when the kids all did the bunny hop at the reception. That was hysterical. And they did a bang-up job decorating the getaway car, too, lemme tell ya.

Many times during our years with the kids, they would tell us that they wanted us to do the music for their weddings when they got married someday. I’d smile and nod, but I sort of didn’t believe they’d really call us to do their weddings several years down the road after we’d parted ways and they’d met other musicians. But guess what? Four of them did indeed have us do the music for their weddings.

I probably never told them, but it was a true honor to do be able to do that. And it was so wonderful to see them all grown up and building their own lives. I have to admit, I shed more than a few tears of pride and joy at those weddings.

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

I think I mentioned that the kids in the choir came to our wedding - I’ll talk more about weddings in the next post. One year later, our first anniversary was on a Sunday.

They brought us a card (or cards - I don’t remember anymore, although I’m sure they are in a box somewhere waiting to be organized in some manner) and a cardboard cutout of a baby…lol! That cardboard cutout was sort of the mascot of the choir after that, and we called it the “choir baby”.

There is a fabulous picture of the “choir baby” in a playpen at one of the choir parties. No, we did not buy a playpen for a cutout baby - we had a friend and her baby staying with us at the time, so the “choir baby” was hanging out in his playpen.

We still have the “choir baby”. It did indeed make the move with us, but it’s still packed away somewhere.

We did love our “choir baby”, and now? Now we have a real “choir baby” and that’s even better.

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

I don’t remember exactly how it came to be, but once upon a time, Mike had some musician friends at a parish in the southern part of Phoenix - a parish that was mostly Hispanic. And somehow we came up with the idea to have a “choir exchange” where our choir went down to their parish and sang with them and their choir (or at least the musicians) came up and sang with us. It was a lot of fun. We learned some new songs and met some really cool people.

And then, Mike worked with a singer, at a wedding he thinks, that was the choir director at a Chinese Baptist Church here in town. She was tall and blonde and had a beautiful voice. And another choir exchange was born. Our Catholic (and non-Chinese) choir went to the Chinese Baptist Church and their choir came to our parish. Again, we learned some new music and met some more really cool people. And talk about ecumenical huh?

We had a lot more energy back then. And time. And the ability to go and visit other places now and then. And a very large teen choir that also had the energy and time to do things like that. We don’t really have that anymore. Definitely not enough energy or time, and our choir is now a mixture of adults and kids and none of them have much time to do things like that. But, we’ll keep our minds open, and who knows what might happen?

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

Subtitle: Don’t Disturb the Other Customers

I mentioned in the last post that we were not all that much older than the kids were, and now and again we’d go out with them after Mass (something we still do with the choir “kids” actually). (Read on …)

Reminiscences on our time with a local church teen choir…getting them written down so I don’t forget.

Many years ago (I’m talking oh, about 18 years or so), Mike and I worked with the teen choir at a local parish (not the one we go to now). In this choir there could be anywhere from 20-30 kids on any given week. And these kids were good singers. It was an amazing choir. We didn’t do a lot of solos, and I just sang with them rather than standing in front waving my arms conducting (like I do at local Catholic high school). (Read on …)

Crazy person that I am, I drug myself and Mike out of bed at 2:45 am to watch the lunar eclipse. It was fascinating watching the moon “disappear” and I could understand how that would have been unnerving in ancient times - not knowing why it was happening and if the moon would ever show up again. Now scientists can not only tell us exactly why it happens and what time the lunar eclipse will occur in every time zone, but when the next one will happen as well (Feb 21).

It got me thinking about how much technology influences our lives, which took me on a technological trip down memory lane… (Read on …)

I was 21 when I met Mike, which is almost 20 years ago now. Not long before we met, he met Joe, who played guitar and sang at a local bar and ran an open mic night. Mike was a 22 year old keyboard player and hung out with Joe watching his hands for the chords and following along.

One night, the bar owner said he was going to bring in bands on the weekend, so Joe asked Mike if he knew a drummer. He, of course, did, so he called Bill and lined him up for the band, and Joe brought in Jordan, another guitar player who often came to the open mic nights. Then the bar owner (as bar owners tend to do) changed his mind and decided he only wanted duos and trios, so their little thrown together band basically said eff you and went to find another gig. Which they did. At another bar not too far down the road. And that bar was the first bar I ever stepped a foot into in my life.

It was around this time as well that one of Joe’s friends brought back a friend of his from California, a 6′4″ Irish Mexican with 3 1/2 teeth named Rodrigo, who played flute and sax, and who joined the band as well. Rodrigo was a great big teddy bear with a toothless grin, a ready laugh, and a lot of talent. He was also a heavy drinker and other things that I won’t mention here. But man, when he sang…it was like velvet.

Mike still gigs with Joe and a couple of other guys now and then at the bar Joe owns, but he rarely sees the other guys, even though we’re still in email contact with Bill. We haven’t seen Rodrigo in years. Not since the band did a reunion gig at Joe’s bar.

Mike got a call from Joe today. Rodrigo is in a local hospital in a coma due to complications from cirrhosis of the liver. And he’s most likely not going to make it. Mike is off to the hospital to say goodbye. I kind of wish I could go, too, but I’ve got to rest for our outing tonight and stay with a little girl who desperately needs a nap before said outing. So I told Mike to say my goodbyes as well.

Mike is melancholy and sad, and who can blame him. So am I. If you want, say a prayer, light a candle, whatever you do, that his end comes peacefully.

Adios Rodrigo. Vaya con Dios.

Mama, take this badge off of me
I can’t use it anymore.
It’s gettin’ dark, too dark for me to see
I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can’t shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin’ down
I feel like I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door

This post actually came about from a comment I left on another blog talking about strange people sitting next to you on the bus…

Back in high school, I lived out of area for the school I went to because the high school district was a so-called “open district” and you could basically choose what school you wanted to go to as long as there was room. So rather than go to the school in my neighborhood, where even 20-something years ago there was gang activity and kids had been threatened by guns in the parking lot, I went to a school in a better neighborhood (and oddly enough where my future husband went to school as well even though we didn’t really meet each other in high school - we met in college).

Anyway, I used to either get driven to school (because I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 18, but that’s another story for another day…lol) or I would ride the city bus. (Read on …)

When I was growing up, Muhammad Ali was a superstar. My father, though, always refused to call him by his adopted name and would only refer to him as Cassius Clay - his given name. So, in my house growing up, there wasn’t a lot of respect for him. They had issues with the fact that he changed religions. But those were different times. As for me, I was always entranced with Ali, his poetry, his boasting that he was the greatest (which he always backed up), his verbal sparring with Howard Cosell. He fascinated me.

In 1996, when Ali lit the torch at the Summer Olympics in Atlanta, I sobbed. It was an electric moment, and even though I was only watching it on television, I will never forget it for as long as I live, because I have felt a little bit of what those people who were actually in the stadium must have felt.

Several years ago, my friend C managed to score tickets to a Phoenix Suns game. They were playing the hated Chicago Bulls that night, so the atmosphere was already pretty exciting, what with Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen in the house. But, for some reason that I can’t remember, that night someone else was in the house as well. That someone was Muhammad Ali.

He was already showing the devastating effects of the Parkinson’s Disease that he has so valiantly fought these many years. He didn’t walk. He didn’t speak. He was driven around the court on a cart and just sat and waved to the crowd. But from the moment he entered the arena until the moment he left, the atmosphere was different. There was electricity in the air. The magnetism, the charm, the charisma that he exhibited his whole career were still strongly in evidence, even from the nosebleed seats where we sat. I got goosebumps, and I will never forget being in the same building as a legend.

Last night, he watched his daughter Laila, who is competing on Dancing with the Stars. The thing about Mr. Ali is that you can’t necessarily see emotion on his face because he can’t move very well due to the effects of Parkinson’s. But if you look into his eyes, you can see that the brilliant poet is still alive and well inside of him. And you can see how proud he was of his beautiful, talented daughter. And you could tell that the crowd in that building felt the same way as every crowd in every building must feel when he occupies it.

There are few who have ever been able to command attention and adulation just by being in the same room. Muhammad Ali is one of the few. A legend, a superstar, an icon. And I will never forget my small brush with his greatness.