I went to last night's choir concert believing it was Emma's last. I imagined writing sentimental statements about how much I was going to miss hearing her figure out songs in the evenings with her guitar, and how proud I always am to pick out her voice among the chorus. Individual voices are meant to blend in, but mother penguins can recognize a single chicks' cry among thousands.It was one of those concerts where the middle school choir, the upper school orchestra and the upper school choir all perform. There were no programs left by the time we arrived, five minutes late. This meant that my usual entertainment - counting the number of songs to be performed and calculating the percent completed, percent remaining, and estimated finishing time - was not an option. The kicker: there was no drawn-out gifting of cd's to each senior with ex temporaneous comments on their personalities by the choir director. Which means that this was not the last choir concert. There's still one more out there, lurking.
But. That's no reason not to get rid of the dozen or so elementary piano books I found on the music shelf, books which, along with lessons, cost hundreds of dollars and caused hundreds of hours of nagging. I advertised them on amazon.com, but no one wanted to buy them.
Emma's former piano teacher promised to find them good homes.
I can pick her voice out AND tell what she's thinking by the expression on her face!
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