baba Yetu

 It’s just two years since I joined the choir

But we have not sung properly together for going on ten months now.

I am missing it so.

When the choir “ got” a song, and when I say “ got” I mean when we nailed it, Jamie our 1940’s  RAF moustached choir master would often encourage us to to leave the circle in which we sing to experience the harmonies from another perspective .  

“ Walk around and listen” he would say and although I often find physical movement within choir embarrassing , when I finally did so, I was always amazed by how beautiful we could sound

Just thirty people , most of us with no experience in music.

All singing quite beautifully together

I’m finding Tuesday zoom choir meetings somewhat difficult. Singing alone in the kitchen, to a prerecorded track isn’t the same as choir and again my natural ability to become easily embarrassed can take over from the raw confidence singing within a group can give you.

I miss the solidarity of being part of a whole.

I miss the psychological boost of endorphins when my natural shyness starts to disappear in melody

Does that make sense?

I miss those voices around me. 

I miss being enveloped in the magic of the noise we can make

I miss those acoustics of the village hall that makes us sound so much better than we are

This song, Baba Yetu is the Lord’s Prayer in Swahili 

I would love for us to sing it when we meet up, again, properly.

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Seventeenth

 Yesterday morning I walked two miles into the centre of Sheffield. I saw this leaf:-

Then I saw this cat sunning itself on a wheelie bin:-

Then I walked past the park keeper's house near the entrance to Endcliffe Park. I know the family who live there:-

As in some other cities, the council have been putting plastic COVID information sleeves round lampposts:-

I rather like the last guide point on this side of the sleeve - "Be patient and kind":-

Soon I was on Hodgson Street where yet more student housing is going up:-

Then I walked the short distance to Headford Street to take this picture of a giant creature by the Sheffield-based street muralist Phlegm:-

I visited a couple of "sports" shops but could not find the Christmas gift I was looking for. Then I nipped into Brenda's fish and chip shop to buy a small portion of chips doused with vinegar and salt. And then I simply came home. All that way just for a bag of chips (American: fries).

In the evening, people from our neighbourhood gathered outside to sing two Christmas carols - "While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night" and "Sweet Chiming Bells". Tony from next door played his French horn and effectively I again led the singing with my booming tenor tones:-

Sweet bells, sweet chiming Christmas bells,

They cheer us on our heavenly way - sweet chiming bells.

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🙏

 Because 

Of the breath 

I have

I’m grateful 

To do this

Share in 

The pain

Rejoice 

With you

And be 

A friend 

In this space

In this place

Today 

And 

Every day 

from R's rue https://ift.tt/3morGg5

Keys

In the so-called western world, keys are ubiquitous. We carry house keys, car keys, workplace keys, keys for padlocks, bicycles, jewellery boxes, safes. You just can't get away from keys.

When I was a teacher, I carried several keys about my person - all in a bunch. They were vital for security. I was pretty good about looking after my keys and very rarely mislaid them but  on the few occasions that did happen my brain went into a kind of meltdown. All I could think about was my missing keys. Where are my keys? Where did I put them? Where have I been?

No matter what anybody said to me, all that I could think about was my keys. Of course, I always found them again and when that happened my relief was like the end of an eclipse. Such joy! There was a future after all.

A few years ago, I went walking on Crowden Moor up to Black Hill. The circle was several miles long. When I got back to where I had parked Clint's predecessor - Francisco - I realised that my car key was missing. Suddenly plunged into severe mental depression I had to nip into  Crowden youth hostel to ask if I could use their telephone. 

My devoted  wife had just got back home after a hard day's nursing. She agreed to drive out to Crowden with my spare car key - some sixteen miles or so. That evening, a cleaner called Wendy who was responsible for the public toilets at Crowden phoned up to say she had my key. Fortunately, my key ring had our phone number on it. Sweet relief. 

In these modern times, replacing a lost electronic car key is always eye-wateringly expensive. I blogged about the Crowden key incident here . It was back in 2012.

Yesterday evening, I experienced a similar mental trauma related to the apparent loss of a car key. Shirley and I hunted high and low for it to no avail. At midnight, with torch (American: flashlight) in hand I was about to retrace my footsteps from a lunchtime walk down to the "Neptune" fish and chip shop when I noticed my black  leather jacket was on a different peg.

Yes! Suddenly, I remembered that I had worn that jacket earlier in the day when I went to pick up the heavily pregnant daughter. It was the first time I had worn it since the early spring. And sure enough - there nestled in the righthand pocket was The Holy Grail - my car keys. Hallelujah! Normal life was about to resume.

I ran upstairs to shake Shirley awake with the good news before dashing outside to let Clint know that all was well.

"I'm going to tell you this just the once buddy," growled Clint. "Never and I mean never lose my key again!  Now stop stroking my bonnet (American: hood) and get to bed! I will see you in the morning you great pudding!"

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