The Belch Heard Round the Forest
Our high school choir includes all the students, singers and non-singers alike. The director's considerable challenge is to get them all to enjoy singing, doing their best to create a pleasant listening experience for the audience.
As a final dress rehearsal for the series of programs to be presented in our supporting churches, the choir presented a program at a nearby nursing home. The audience contained the usual mix of alert, appreciative elderly friends, and some who struggled to stay awake. I was part of the audience.
All had gone well through the first part of the final song: "A Woodland Symphony." The warblers had warbled, the frogs had ker-chugged, and the nightingales, magpies, and chickadees had carolled forth in turn and on cue.
The next part was to be a grand finale with everyone continuing to repeat their own part while the next group joined in. The director raised his hands, ready to give the signal to begin. Just then, one of the less alert, front-row members of the audience belched loudly enough for me to hear it near the back of the chapel. The choir suddenly lost their sober focus, but tried to be attentive to the director. He brought his hands down and the warblers warbled bravely for about 2 syllables, then dissolved in helpless laughter. The director was having similar problems. No less than 5 attempts later the symphony finally got far enough to include the ker-chugging of the frogs.
Beside me, Yoshinori, who sometimes had trouble understanding all the English words, had understood what must be a universal source of humor--the unexpected intrusion of earthy normalities into formal (perhaps self-consciously so) events.
On the last day of going to school with us before returning to Japan, he referred to this incident by saying, "I think this is my favorite memory."
God bless the sleepy little lady in the front row for adding so much merriment to our program and our memories.
As a final dress rehearsal for the series of programs to be presented in our supporting churches, the choir presented a program at a nearby nursing home. The audience contained the usual mix of alert, appreciative elderly friends, and some who struggled to stay awake. I was part of the audience.
All had gone well through the first part of the final song: "A Woodland Symphony." The warblers had warbled, the frogs had ker-chugged, and the nightingales, magpies, and chickadees had carolled forth in turn and on cue.
The next part was to be a grand finale with everyone continuing to repeat their own part while the next group joined in. The director raised his hands, ready to give the signal to begin. Just then, one of the less alert, front-row members of the audience belched loudly enough for me to hear it near the back of the chapel. The choir suddenly lost their sober focus, but tried to be attentive to the director. He brought his hands down and the warblers warbled bravely for about 2 syllables, then dissolved in helpless laughter. The director was having similar problems. No less than 5 attempts later the symphony finally got far enough to include the ker-chugging of the frogs.
Beside me, Yoshinori, who sometimes had trouble understanding all the English words, had understood what must be a universal source of humor--the unexpected intrusion of earthy normalities into formal (perhaps self-consciously so) events.
On the last day of going to school with us before returning to Japan, he referred to this incident by saying, "I think this is my favorite memory."
God bless the sleepy little lady in the front row for adding so much merriment to our program and our memories.
posted by Mrs. I at
12:05 PM
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