Another Year, Another Christmas Pageant

I have to admit, this year's started out a little slow. There was a lot of "down" time with kids standing around waiting on something -a cue,  maybe.

Finally, with the very first song we had some action. A  melt down by a nearly three year old. Nobody could figure out why, but he began to cry loudly and jump up and down. Mama came to the rescue and rushed him out the side door. 

At the end of the song, a little boy of around seven came off the stage crying. Never knew what that was about, either.

Gabriel had a solo. The words were being shown on a screen at the back of the church, but apparently the wrong verses were being put up at the wrong time. Old Gabe got the giggles, and finally said, "Those are the wrong words."  The finish was strong, though, with lots of applause.

The innkeeper was a regular comedian. Who knew? This kid is as quiet as they come. When Joseph asked if he had somewhere they could stay, the innkeeper looked coyly to the side and said, "No." which made the audience laugh because it sounded like "New." Then Joseph asked was he sure there wasn't any place they could stay, the innkeeper said, "We-ll, let me look around." Which he did, by turning his head up down, and back. More laughter from the audience. "We-ll," says he, "There is the stable."

Thank goodness!

In the middle of "O Holy Night", the little donkey appeared from stage right and began to wander around. The soloist was stage left, so my attention was split. Because the cow showed up, too. And, not be be outdone, the sheep showed up. The sheep is about the size of a one year old, and when she tried to navigate the first step, I thought she was a goner. But she flailed her arms, er, front legs, wildly and regained her balance. 

All the while, the soloist, either oblivious to the goings on at the opposite end of the stage, or a great actress, sang on. 

The stage began to fill up with the shepherds, the wise men, Mary and Joseph, the baby Jesus, all the angels, big and small. The animals were corralled and placed on their proper mark. 

As the soloist began her cresendo,  four or five of the littlest angels boogied on down. 

The End 

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.