Don't Harp on Me

Several years ago, maybe twenty-five or so, I was asked to sing at a friend's wedding.

I've done that lots, and certainly had no problem saying yes. She requested I sing "The Lord's Prayer", which I  have also done many times. No problem.

My accompanist would be playing the harp.

Uh, wait.

There my blaise' attitude came to a stop, but I figured, hey, I knew the song, no big deal.

We went to Atlanta to a beautiful old Episcopalian church where the ceremony was to take place.

I had borrowed a pretty dress and I was feeling fine.

Someone greeted us at the door and I told them who I was and where I needed to be, so they took me directly to a very severe looking woman and made introductions.

She looked even in a worse mood when that was done, sporting a very sour expression as she peered down her nose at me.

Screwing her face up as though she smelled a foul order, she said she understood we had driven down from the  mountains where we lived. (Translation: What is a hillbilly like you doing in a place like this?)

I told her yes, we had been driving over two hours.

She then asked, rather arrogantly, if I had ever sung "The Lord's Prayer" in public as a solo. (Translation: Can  you even sing at all, coming from up in those horrible mountains?)

I allowed (slowly) as how I reckoned I had. (Translation: You are beginning to annoy  me.)

And more arrogantly, had I ever been accompanied by a harpist? (Translation: The harp should be the center of attention, doing a solo all its own)

I told her no, but that my maiden name was Harper, so it was probably in my blood. (Translation: Probably one of my drunken Scots ancestors played better than you can)

She really liked that last remark. Not that she said so. What she said was it appeared obvious that we must practice right away. (Translation: Dear God, I'll never live this down, it's going to ruin my reputation)

I agreed as she eyed me as though I was about to kick off my shoes and pick my teeth while I tried to sing.

Can't say I wasn't tempted.

Before I go any further with this tale, I want you to know I wasn't getting angry. I was amused. Why, I was downright tickled. I figured no matter how badly I performed, I could never perform as badly as she was certain I was about to.

She closed her eyes and began to play the harp, swaying back and forth and nodding her head.

And dang, this was just the intro.

Me?

I just sang.

When we finished, she opened her eyes (I think she had peeked once). She said, "That was very good." Translation: You didn't sing through your nose)

I thanked her. (Translation, Sorry to disappoint you)

She glanced down at her watch, full of self-importance and said she hoped the ceremony began on time, because as soon as it was over she had to fly across town for another performance.

I smiled and said I was sure she could make good time. (Translation Just hop on  your harp and fly right over there!)

We drifted apart (gee I wonder why?), she searching for whatever, me for Husband.

He was standing in a nearby corner, boiling.

He'd heard the way she spoke to me and was ready to give her what she deserved.

I placed my hand on his arm and said, "It's just a song. It'll be over soon."

His face softened and he said, "You sounded like an angel."

Of course I did. Wasn't that a harp playing while I sang?

We burst into laughter and went in search of the sanctuary.

The moral of the story is this: Be nice. You'll feel better at the end of the day.

And the harpist? I don't know if she has been happy yet. But by now she probably has a cabin somewhere perched in these here hills and brags about it to her city friends.

The times, they are a'changin', after all.