Changes
Tomorrow is my boss’ last worship service. Our new worship pastor led last Sunday, and he did fine. We voted him in at the end of the service. That is, when the pastor asked us to stand if we wanted him to stay, almost everyone stood up. When he asked if anyone disagreed, nobody stood up. That doesn’t mean everyone was happy with the choice, of course, just that those who were unhappy didn’t want to stand and let everyone know who they were.
My (soon to be ex) boss’ mom was present, I could see her in her accustomed place from where I was in the choir loft. She didn’t stand either time. It’s possible she just didn’t want to make the effort, figured it didn’t matter.
A couple days ago shortly after I got to the office, the senior pastor was talking with our IT/Finance guy in the pastor’s office, which is right next to mine. No names were mentioned, but apparently at least one choir member has buttonholed the pastor and expressed great unhappiness with the situation. He said he was sweating bullets through the whole service, dreading the vote, afraid of what might happen. It turned out fine, God was in the middle of the whole thing, but I can understand his apprehension. Especially in light of some of the comments he was receiving.
Here’s the thing — my soon-to-be-ex boss has been very clear that he simply can’t do it anymore. He has a full time job elsewhere, he was never supposed to be anything but interim, and even though the interim thing has lasted nearly 3 years, he can’t keep doing it. The church had gotten complacent about that — he did a great job and people love him. Especially the choir. He is going to be missed.
The new guy has big shoes to fill. And he will do that. He’s a very nice fellow, he’s been doing the worship pastor thing for about 10 years, and he’ll be good for us. I hope we’ll be good for him. I mean no disrespect to my soon-to-be-ex boss, I’ve loved working for him, he’s the best boss I ever had — but it’s going to be nice to be working for someone whose focus is on the worship service and music ministry. Quite often, well, most of the time my soon-to-be-ex boss’ focus was, of necessity, elsewhere. With his real job that paid the bills and enabled him to keep his sons in college.
I am going to miss working for him. I won’t necessarily miss the oddball humor — as I’ve said before I’ve never learned to read him, even when I’m looking at him, so frequently I’m wondering how to respond to something he’s said. But he’s one of the nicest people on the planet and it’s just going to be different.
There’s nothing wrong with different. It’s just different. I don’t know if it will be better or worse, just that it’ll be different.
It might be easier. Time will tell. And the change is happening, even if some of us humans are reacting the way humans do react to change — by digging in our heels and grousing.
“Would You Mind Running the Slides This Morning?”
The question I most dread hearing on Sunday morning.
I got up at 5 this morning. I didn’t want to, but Hubby’s working nights and the critters have to be taken care of and Shiloh needs her meds. That takes awhile, and in order to get out of the house by 7:30 a.m. I have to be up at 5. Actually, I needed to be up at 4:30 but that’s just crazy. So I was a tad late getting out of the house.
Why so early? Well, my boss is out of town this weekend. I think he and his wife went to go visit their oldest son who is doing graduate work at the University of Southern Mississippi. So we had a substitute worship leader, a fellow who’s done it before and who has all the hymns in the Baptist Hymnal memorized, by title and page number and lyrics and key and everything. I am not making that up.
There was a wedding in the sanctuary Saturday afternoon, so I couldn’t set up the praise band or leave the music out like I usually do. Plus, I wasn’t able to set up the choir music as the groom’s crowd would be hanging out in the choir room. So I had to come in early and do the things I usually do Thursday afternoon. When I got there I discovered someone had already set up the chairs and stands for the praise band. I don’t know who it was but I’d like to thank him/her, it saved me several minutes. Hooray! I set the music on one of the stands, and went to set up the choir room. Then I went and hung out in my office for awhile. I’d planned to set up my mom’s Kindle — I bought her one, need to get it set up and loaded up so I can send it to her. Needs wireless access to set up. Someone nearby has a wireless network but it’s secured, so I figured I’d take it to church with me and use their free wifi.
Sidebar — My Kindle, which is a few years old, just connects. Doesn’t need access to a network, apparently it’s its own hotspot. Why did they change that? I think I can use my cell phone as a hot spot but I’ve yet to figure out how. Something else to work on, yippee. End sidebar.
It didn’t work, by the way. I couldn’t connect to anything. This is frustrating. Again, why would Amazon remove that capability? *sigh*
I was getting up from my desk to go to Sunday School when one of the junior pastors, who gave the message this morning, appeared in my office doorway and asked if I was running the slides this morning. “Not that I’m aware of,” I said. It’s never a good sign when they ask you that question. I knew it was a sign of impending doom, but I hoped…. And I went to Sunday School.
They let us choir members leave Sunday School a tad early so we can get to the choir room on time. On my way through the hallway behind the sanctuary I tried to look over the rail at the back of the stage to see if anyone was in the balcony at the computer. I’m not tall enough, though, but I thought surely if anyone needed me they’d have said so already.
Hah. I made it all the way to the choir loft. There we were, resplendent in our Sunday best (no choir robes this week; we wore them last week for the Bicentennial), when our fearless worship leader asked me who was running the slides.
Urk? Wha…? I tried to look up into the balcony, but the lights are pretty bright. I could see someone up there, couldn’t make out who, said I wasn’t sure. He asked if I could go up and check. So I grabbed my stuff and climbed past three other altos and scurried out the back of the stage and up the side walkway of the sanctuary to get to the balcony.
Turns out the slides were being run by our senior pastor’s son. I’m guessing here, but he might be 13. And I’m quite certain he’d have handled it easily, but when I offered to stay and do it, well, he seemed relieved. And I was told by the guy running sound and lights to have a seat.
So there I was. Running slides. Having totally missed the rehearsal and with no specific instructions from anybody. Looking at the bulletin I realized pretty quick that we were missing a couple slides, so I had to find them (they’re slides we use a lot, but they weren’t in the playlist). Managed to buffoon the first one, I do hope no one noticed. I’m sure someone did. Maybe nobody will mention it. Once I got done freaking out and we were a few minutes into the service (and past the first two hymns) it went okay.
Until we got to the special music. Where I discovered I’d left a couple slides out when I built them a few days ago. Oops. Fortunately the two ladies singing didn’t actually need my help.
Anyway, that’s that. Running the slides is not difficult, but I don’t much like doing it. Too much responsibility, and way too much visibility. Serving God is an honor, I just prefer to do it with a much lower profile.
I Might Witness a Murder, One Day
Last Sunday, the 20th, the community concert band gave our Fall Concert. Went okay, I think, better than I expected. We had a bit of an almost-incident, and I wanted to share it with you. I like sharing.
One of the pieces we did is called Serenade to a Picket Fence. Please note that The First John Philip Sousa Memorial Band plays this a lot faster than we did — at least the first and third sections — but you can get the sense of the piece anyway. It’s pretty cool. Us three percussionists — and there are only three of us, my boss has too much on his plate for the next few months to be able to participate, and even though we occasionally get indications that someone else may be coming, no one ever actually shows up — practiced. A lot. It’s not a complicated piece, especially when you get the patterns down. That’s really all it is, patterns.
We were setting up to go through it one time before the performance, on stage. The director wanted to take one more stab at it before we did it for real. The stage was set up with the shell behind us, and here’s a picture of what that looks like.
Last Sunday when we arrived the shell was already in place, and it was too far forward. The Patriot Hall staff folks managed to move it back a bit — and that’s an undertaking, it’s heavy even if it’s on wheels, and very difficult to move — but we didn’t have much space behind us. So, we were set up and getting prepared to run through it, which meant setting up extra stands for our music as the piece is 4 pages long, there’s no way to turn a page while you’re playing, and unlike the people in the video linked above we can’t memorize well enough to be able to play without music. Don’t judge us.
One of our band members, who I may or may not have mentioned before, is a bit of a jerk. I don’t even want to say what instrument he plays, for fear somehow someone might recognize who I’m talking about. I suppose I shouldn’t worry, I’m the only person in the world who reads this blog, but I’d rather not take the risk. Anyway, he’s a jerk. He hasn’t done this in awhile, but he has in the past come bulldozing through the percussion section on the way to his chair. Never mind that it would be easier to cross the front of the room, behind the director, and climb up the other side. Nope, he has to come through our section, and because he carries his instrument case over his left shoulder and has no concept of how much airspace he’s taking up, has knocked our stands over and sent our music flying several times. He is obstinately oblivious to glares, and even when I blurted out, “Really?” when he did it one evening, ignores or perhaps doesn’t care about the destruction he leaves in his wake. Our mallet percussionist has stated clearly to me, more than once, that she’s bringing her .22 one night and if he does it again will cap him, right there.
So, Sunday afternoon he did it again. Rather than cross the stage behind the shell, where there was plenty of room and no one in his way, he plowed right through us. Crossed behind me, shoved his way between the other two percussionists who were standing next to each other as they use the same instrument for that piece, moved the vibraphone so he could walk through to his section, and knocked two of our stands over sending all the music to the floor. He glanced back briefly, said nothing, kept going.
Ever actually seen an expression on someone’s face that has “If looks could kill….” written all over it? That was our mallet percussionist’s expression. She said, loud enough for him to hear although he didn’t react, “I’m going to kill him.” And she repeated her intent to bring her .22. I told her I’d swear on a stack that he attacked her first.
I hope I don’t actually have to, though. It’d be messy. And perjury looks bad on the resumé.
I should state that he has a tough row to hoe — his wife is in very poor health. Has been for awhile. She was able to come to the concert, she came through the band room with him on their way out. She’s a lovely person, very kind and soft spoken. I can’t imagine how he managed to convince her to marry him.
Still doesn’t excuse his behavior.
I was recounting this story to my boss the other day. He said he wanted to show me something, got out his iPhone and scrolled through his e-mails until he found the one he wanted. Then he scrolled down to the message text (I didn’t see who any of the recipients were, besides him), and handed the phone to me.
The e-mail was from the jerk. It was astounding in its egotism. He was bemoaning an impending choice he felt compelled to make about quitting one of the bands he was in and for some reason felt he had to share it with other people. He plays in the Camden band also, it seems, and is considering quitting our band. Our director isn’t to his liking — his ego is inflated and he has “OCD”, according to this fellow, and as if that weren’t enough we haven’t played enough of the jerk’s pieces (he’s also an arranger, in addition to being clumsy and oblivious). He listed other bands and musical groups that have played more of his stuff — I can’t remember who any of them were, sorry — and stated that our (meaning our director’s) failure to recognize his brilliance (he didn’t actually use that verbiage) was sufficient cause for his quitting us. It went on for quite a bit. Very long message. Full of self-serving crap.
As I told my boss, after picking my teeth up off the floor, once you hit “send” on an email you lose control of what happens to it. There’s no way for him to prevent someone from forwarding it to our director. And there’s nothing good to come of it if someone does. It’s just hurtful.
Our director, in his defense, goes over and over and over the same stuff every rehearsal, and repeats the same instructions over and over and over, and not because he’s egotistical or has OCD. He has to. Because we have a band of adult volunteers, many of whom never pick up their instruments except in rehearsal. Seriously. They never practice. The only time their horns see light is when they’re in the band room. So they don’t know the music and they don’t remember the dynamics even when they’re written on the page in front of them and they don’t remember the instructions the director gives them because they never write them down. We end up being practice partners for a bunch of folks who can’t be bothered to do their homework where they’re supposed to — at home.
Our director also says, every rehearsal, that he hears individuals, wants an ensemble sound, please don’t play so loudly, etc. And the worst offender is — I am not making this up — the jerk. Who at one time was from all accounts a fine player, but because of an injury to his lip (yeah, okay, he’s a brass player, but I’m not saying which instrument) cannot play softly anymore. Not that he thinks he should play softly, because apparently he doesn’t. I’ve witnessed the attitude personally, and he seems genuinely to believe that he has a right to be the loudest person in the room.
All I can say is — if he decides to quit us, that’s fine with me. I wish him much success and happiness — elsewhere.
Like the rabbi says in Fiddler on the Roof. Someone asks him if there is a blessing for the Tsar. He thinks it over, and says, “May God bless and keep the Tsar… far away from us.”
Amen.
Not a very Christian attitude, I know. I’m a work in progress, and I have a very long way to go. God loves me anyway. He also loves the jerk.
Convicted Felon Out on Parole Gets Dissed, Shoots Bystander
This story is almost two weeks old, but here’s the gist of it. A thug hanging out with his “friends” in Five Points in Columbia gets dissed by somebody, whips out a stolen gun (as a convicted felon he is prohibited from having a gun at all) and fires a bullet in somebody’s direction. He’s a tad unclear on who he was shooting at, exactly….
“I’m sorry I did not mean to shoot,” Smith allegedly told a city officer, according to an incident report.
He hit an 18-year-old college student, a person he didn’t know, who had done nothing to him. The bullet severed her spinal cord. She’s going through rehab. It’s unlikely she’ll ever walk again. I say “unlikely” rather than “impossible” because it is possible there will be a medical breakthrough that will allow repair of spinal cords, but right now we don’t have that ability.
Here’s a photo of her.
From all accounts, a nice person who was minding her own business and not bothering anybody.
In an effort at fairness, here’s a photo of the convicted felon with a gun he shouldn’t have had and no concept of weapons safety.
His parents have apologized to the victim’s family and his mother is praying for Martha every day. I can’t imagine the pain they’re feeling.
Here’s what his mother had to say, though, and while it may not have been intended as a defense for what her son did (I think she can be forgiven to wanting to defend him — he’s her baby, after all), it bears examining.
The Smiths say their son fired after hearing taunts and hearing the click of guns from a group of men following him.
“Somebody had to threaten him,” Juanita Smith’s mother said. “What happened is out of character. He’s laidback [sic].”
This is why self-defense training is required for anyone who wants a concealed weapons permit. Convicted felons don’t much care about legalities, of course, so it shouldn’t be expected that this fellow would be any more concerned about proper procedure than he is about staying out of other people’s homes when he hasn’t been invited in, and stealing their stuff.
You don’t get to shoot people who insult you. You don’t get to shoot because you hear a click of guns from people following you. Even if you’re sure it’s a gun click you hear and not something else — like someone snapping their fingers, or stepping on a twig or acorn on the sidewalk. You don’t get to shoot.
I’m sorry for Martha Childress and her family and friends. I pray that God will surround them with His love and grace, and give them the strength they need to get through what they need to get through.
And I pray for Michael Juan Smith, who needs God’s grace worse than he needs anything else.
My Boss’ Birthday
My boss’ birthday was last Wednesday, October 9th. He turned 56. Our choir president, when I reminded her last week, said she’d get with one of the other board members and arrange a cake, and we’d sing Happy Birthday.
I’d had another idea shortly before that, though. I can’t remember who it was that told me they’d filled somebody’s car with balloons for their birthday, but it seemed a fine idea. Problem — How to get access to his truck. So I called his wife. She had this job before I did, and we got along very well. I also figured she’d wave me off if it was going to be a bad idea.
She thought it was hysterical. She agreed to come by the church once we’d gotten started in rehearsal (for the Singing Christmas Tree), get my keys, and open his truck with the spare key so she could fill it with balloons. My job was to get the balloons to the church.
I started blowing them up last Sunday evening. I didn’t want to start too early, because they’d deflate. I didn’t want to do it at the last minute because blowing up that many balloons — and I had no idea how many I’d need — might kill me. So I blew up four large trash bags full Sunday night, then another three bags Monday night, and another three bags Tuesday night. Wednesday morning I inflated the helium balloons. I took them into the church in shifts — first load Tuesday afternoon, second and final load Wednesday morning. I hid them in the Brides Room, which is a place near the east entrance that doesn’t get used unless they’re having a wedding.
Or a performance. The South Carolina Singing Churchmen gave a concert Tuesday night, and in addition to me hauling several trash bags full of balloons past one of their guys in the narthex, they were using the Brides Room as — well, a dressing room, maybe, or break area. No one disturbed the balloons. Once I’d gotten them all in there, this is what it looked like.
There are ten large bags stuffed with balloons in these pictures, plus 16 helium-filled balloons. I filled up about 150 balloons total.
He has a truck, so I was worried I wouldn’t have enough. Turned out I had too many. She was able to use all but 3 bags of balloons. I guess she took those home with her, I don’t know where they are. Unless they’re still in the Brides Room. Note to self — check the Brides Room.
So Wednesday evening, she did the balloon stuffing and I tried to maintain my equanimity during rehearsal. I got the keys back from the IT/Finance guy, she gave them to him when she was finished. Apparently he surprised her while she was filling the truck and about scared her half to death. People shouldn’t sneak up on people when they’re up to something nefarious. She texted me pictures of the truck when she was done. It was crammed full. You can’t see through the side windows, they’re tinted, but looking through the windshield I couldn’t see how he was even going to be able to get in the thing.
When rehearsal ended, it was about 9 p.m. I got my stuff together, the boss was headed to his office with his sound system gear and I said goodnight and headed to my car. It was all alone in that part of the parking lot but it was down near the police station, so I figured he wouldn’t notice it was there when he came out. I nearly moved it behind one of the church buses so he wouldn’t see it, but I figured there was no way he’d notice it. I hid myself around the corner from where he was parked (in a handicapped space — he’s going to get a large fine for that one day) and waited for him to come out.
And waited. And waited. It was probably about 10 minutes, it just felt like forever. When I saw him he was walking around the other end of the section of the parking lot, near a sandwich place, carrying the box the cake had come in (there was some left over, he tried to give it to me but nope, don’t need it), and talking on the phone.
Talking on the phone. All I could think was, who the heck is he talking to? I’m tired, I want to go home, get over here and open your truck so we can get this over with. Finally he wandered my way, and I ducked back behind the corner.
Sidebar — I was certain I’d end up talking to the police, when someone called in some strange woman lurking at the church. They didn’t show, though.
Here’s the thing. He noticed my car. First time ever, probably. He came out, saw my car, wondered why it was still there because I’d left before he did. He walked over, walked around it, realized I wasn’t in it. He walked over to the sandwich shop, and I wasn’t there either. So now he’s thinking I’ve been kidnapped or something. And he called me. Twice. I’d silenced my phone so I didn’t realize. The second time he called he left a voice mail message. The best part is that he was in the process of leaving the voice mail message when he opened the truck door and the balloons popped out at him. Scared. Him. Half. To. Death. He very nearly took the Lord’s name in vain, it was that close.
I saved the message, even emailed it to myself, but I can’t figure out how to open it. I did play it for his wife this morning, she was helping out with the food for the Singing Christmas Tree rehearsal today (we rehearse on 3 Saturdays, and everybody brings food for the Saturday rehearsals, which is almost the best part). She got a kick out of it.
I wish I could post it here so you could hear it. It’s pretty funny.
Fallout — Today when he left after rehearsal was over, and I was still working on things in the office, he told me he’s never going to let me leave before he does ever again. Heh.™
Here’s the truck.
He told me today that he didn’t quite make it home with all the balloons. He pulled out his knife and started popping them. That’s just cheating.
Edit to add — Here’s the picture his wife took right after stuffing the truck.
Facebook Stupidity and the Systematic Destruction Of Our Country
Redundant, I know.
I’ve decided I’m up-sick-and-fed with racist stuff on Facebook. And by “racist stuff” I include people making statements such as the one made by a friend of a friend yesterday. He (the friend) was bemoaning the uproar over ObamaCare. The friend of a friend opined that people didn’t like ObamaCare because “of the color of his skin.”
Enough. More than enough, already. People don’t like Obama because of the color of his skin. Not because he’s weakened America’s standing in the world in front of her enemies and her allies, to the point where we may never count again on the world stage. Not because he’s invited the terrorists to continue their attacks and planning, secure in the knowledge that he and his administration will do nothing to either stop them or retaliate, even if they attack here, again, and make no mistake — that’s their intention. It’s coming. Not because he cravenly allowed the murder of his representatives in Benghazi by ignoring their pleas for security assistance in the weeks leading up to the attack and then refusing to authorize help to be sent while they fought their attackers for hours, only to be overrun. Not because he goes golfing rather than make difficult decisions or even pay attention to what’s happening in the world — not that he’d do anything about any of it, if he were paying attention. Not because he’s made it his mission for the past 5+ years to systematically destroy everything this country has stood for since its founding. Not because he’s expanded the entitlement state so far beyond the capability of the people who are still working (and that number shrinks daily) to support it — and when the entitlement state collapses, which it will, because to quote Prof. Reynolds anything that can’t go on forever, won’t, there will be riots and I hope you’re prepared — that our downfall is getting closer by the day. Not because he’s saddled future generations with ruinous debt that is also increasing by the day, and which he’s taking no action to reduce but instead is systematically making it worse….
None of that counts. It’s because he’s black.
I’m done with that. I’m not giving audience to anyone who keeps trying to condense all President Golfpants’ (aka Professor Ditherton Wiggleroom) failures down to skin color. We’ve got a socialist in the White House, the press has aided and abetted his destruction of our country (and willfully ignored his attacks on their institution, such as it is — that takes a special kind of stupid), the IRS and NSA, to name only two, are in league with him against the population and our freedoms.
I’m not saying we’re finished. But until and unless the GOP, or the Tea Party, or both (which would be best, really, can’t they somehow work together? It’s not a difficult concept) steps up and makes intelligent and forward-looking decisions to take our country back from these people, we are done.
That’s all. God help us. We need You now, more than we ever have.
Never Trust People
It’s a mistake. Every. Single. Time.
A Great New Nickname for Obama
Via Vodkapundit. Professor Ditherton Wiggleroom.
I like it. It’s even better than President Golfpants.
Changes Are Coming
And life is about change, isn’t it?
My boss has been the interim music minister/worship leader at the church for about two years. That’s a long time to be “interim”. He’s been telling the PTB for awhile that they need to find someone permanent, or at least as permanent as anything gets in this world. Finally a few months ago he gave them a drop-dead date. Said he’s resigning effective December 22nd. That gets us past the Singing Christmas Tree, but he won’t have to come up with a Christmas Eve service. Which is a huge relief, for him.
I found out today we’re auditioning somebody on Sunday. Seems they’ve interviewed a few folks, and this guy has made it farther along in the process than anyone else. I don’t know if it’s the same fellow who came to see the pastor last week — if it is, he’s awfully young. Maybe late 30’s. I have no idea where he’s coming from, I’m not on the committee and not invited to any of the meetings, nor should I be. I don’t even hear rumors. I’m just oblivious.
This afternoon I talked to the boss for awhile on the phone — he has a full-time job elsewhere so I don’t see him except Wednesday nights going over the slides for Sunday and choir rehearsal. He told me what was going on, at least as far as the audition on Sunday. And that he was a bit miffed because he’d spent about 3 hours Sunday evening coming up with a flow for Sunday’s service only to be told today that we won’t be using it — the new guy is calling the shots. We have no idea what music is being planned, someone else is contacting the instrumentalists (we don’t even know if all of them are playing). He told me the choir isn’t singing on Sunday. He won’t be there either, the pastor told him to “take the day off”.
On one hand, this makes my job this week easier. And that’s okay, because I’m behind. I spent yesterday trying to get music ready for musicians playing in the Singing Christmas Tree orchestra and finalizing postcards to send to the parents of kids in grades 3, 4 and 5 Sunday School and choirs to invite them to get their kids involved in the Singing Christmas Tree. I still need to correct the buffoonery I committed getting the boss’ scores copied; I have to do 4 of them over. There are 15 pieces, so I suppose I should just be grateful I managed to get 11 of them right. I have yet to get started on the ad loop for Sunday, and didn’t even clear out the stage from Sunday until this afternoon. But if I don’t have to do words, and don’t have to pull music for the choir, and don’t have to pull (and copy) music for the praise band, I’m not so far behind after all.
So I guess tomorrow won’t be as much of a running-around-with-my-hair-on-fire day as I’d thought.
On the other hand, it’s a bit worrisome. As I said, I’m not in the loop on any of this process, it’s all just going to be a huge surprise. But if they hire this guy full time, I’m out of a job. There’s no way they’d need me anymore. I don’t know if the fellow who had the job before my boss did was full time, but I do know he had an assistant. I also know there’s no way there is enough to do to keep two people employed, even with the Singing Christmas Tree stuff going on.
I’m going to be sad to lose this job, if that happens. I love this job. Sometimes it’s frustrating and maddening, but it’s all about music, which is my heart, and serving God, which is the best thing ever. I have a small part in bringing the message to people, and it’s a great honor. It’s stupendous.
God is in charge, He has a plan and His timing is perfect. So if I get laid off, it’s because He wants me to do something else.
I just hope the something else doesn’t involve massive debt, stress, and unemployment.
*sigh*
Disturbing Facebook Announcements
Today is the birthday of the woman I knew who died of cancer last year. In the daily announcement part of my Facebook page, her name is displayed along with the message that today is her birthday.
Thanks, Facebook.
I realize it’s not Facebook’s fault. The woman’s daughter has chosen to leave her mom’s Facebook page active, probably as a way to feel like she’s somehow staying in touch.
Not much fun for the rest of us, though. *sigh*
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