Bucket List?
I don’t get the whole bucket list thing. I understand what it is, writing down or otherwise recording all the things you want to do before you die (i.e. “kick the bucket”), but I don’t understand the attraction of it.
I don’t have a bucket list. I don’t think I ever will. Maybe because in my humble opinion I’ve already been through too much, thank you, not interested in asking for more. Also because some things that might turn up on my bucket list, if I had one, would be ruinously expensive and so there’s exactly zero chance of them ever happening. Which, if I understand the concept of the bucket list, is counterproductive.
Or maybe I’m just too tired to care.
*shrug*
Cheers, y’all.
Nevada, the Divorce State
Stumbled over this by way of Instapundit. The first article is at Huffington Post and the second one is here.
So, up until the mid-70’s you only had to be in Nevada for 6 weeks before you could file for divorce. This explains what happened to my mother.
A little history — In Alexandria, Lousiana on July 31, 1972 after years of alcoholism and prescription drug abuse, my father finally lost his tenuous grip on sanity. That morning he had my mother cornered in their bedroom for hours, during which he ranted on such topics as how we didn’t love him, that he was only there to bring in money. He told her he was a machine and he filled out lots of tiny pieces of paper with codes on them, codes we were to use to communicate with him. He dumped out her sewing kit and filled each little compartment of the top tray with a different type of pill. He was a doctor; he had lots of prescription meds to hand, if only from the endless free samples the drug companies were forever sending him. He told her he was going to advertise in the paper for a slave, because he wanted someone who would do what he wanted them to do without questioning him. And he told her he was going to hire someone to kill us (my younger sister and brother and me, our older sister was married and living in California), but if he couldn’t find someone to do it he was going to do it himself. He would have, too. Even when he was delusional my father wasn’t in the habit of saying anything he didn’t mean. And he had several guns in the house. He’d have had to kill my mother first, but there is no doubt he’d have slaughtered us all.
This was the end of that particular episode of my life, but not the end of the misery. It had been going on for years prior to that day and went on for years after — nothing in reality is ever as tidy as you see in the movies or TV. The situation was different, as my mother got us up that morning as soon as she was able to convince him to go to work, that she would kill us and then call him so they could run away together, and we fled to my uncle’s home in Texas.
I heard a bit of that conversation, by the way, when I woke up a little before 3 in the morning. My bedroom was next to my parents’ bedroom. We were living in the VA Hospital Quarters then, my dad was a psychiatrist on staff there. [Yes, I’m aware of the irony.] The walls were pretty thick, the buildings were old, but I could hear him. His voice sounded odd and I could hear him crying. I’m sorry to say that after so many years of what had been going on I just rolled my 16-year-old eyes, thought, “Now what?” and went back to sleep. I wish I had been more compassionate, but he had just uprooted us from California on the basis of what turned out to be a delusion and I was angry. Very, very angry.
Anyway, we left. Daddy had another episode shortly after that which required hospitalization, and shortly after that left Louisiana to go back to California. I think he was most likely fired once the administration realized he couldn’t be trusted with patients, although they staunchly fought my mother’s efforts to have him committed. He moved back in with his parents for awhile, and eventually moved to Nevada. Whether he was practicing medicine or not, I don’t know.
A few years later my mother got a letter in the mail. It was from a legal firm in Nevada and stated that unless she responded within a certain time period, a divorce would be granted to my father. She thought it was junk mail, didn’t believe you could get a divorce that way. She didn’t want a divorce. She told me later that the only thing she could have gotten with a divorce was married again, and she didn’t want to do that. And she hasn’t. From July 1972 to today, 41 years, she has remained alone. And she’s doing fine, except for the issues that come with getting older. Being married wouldn’t have stopped that.
So my dad got his divorce. And married his third wife, a Mormon, in Nevada. I remember her name was Kathlynn and she made the regrettable mistake of trying to insert herself into his children’s lives. Didn’t go well. I can only imagine what he told her, and I’m quite certain it was not the truth. No sane woman would have stuck around if she’d known what he had done to us. Well, maybe she wasn’t sane. I wouldn’t know. As far as I know they remained married until his death in early 1978. She didn’t see fit to notify us; we found out by accident when my older sister (the only one still in communication with him, probably because she wasn’t present for the worst of it) called in March to wish him a happy birthday. The nice Mormon lady didn’t tell her right away that her father had died, just that he wasn’t there. When she finally broke the news, she said, “Your father is in Ely in a grave. He died thinking you hated him.”
Nice.
So when I ran across the link in Instapundit and read the articles, it brought back memories. Which I figured I’d share. You’re welcome.
Stress Test Followup
Sorry, forgot to post about this. I suppose it doesn’t matter, as no one reads this but me.
Anyway. Results were normal. The doc says my heart is functioning at 61% efficiency, and anything over 55% is normal. Does that strike you as being a tad low for acceptable? Think about it. If you did your job at 61% efficiency, you wouldn’t have one very long.
The calcifications on my heart valves, which he found last year, are apparently worsening. My aortic valve no longer closes completely, so blood is draining back into my heart. He said, “It’s nothing to panic about.” Hmph. Not his heart, is it? He’s a nice fellow, though, and a bona fide cardiologist, so he knows. But — still. He wants to see me again in a year, and I guess we’ll see how it’s going then.
Sheez. Getting old isn’t for sissies.
Choir Workshop
Last weekend (August 16-18th) the church choir had an opportunity to attend a workshop run by Dave Williamson. He’s an arranger of Christian music, and a leader of worship choirs, and has helped plant a church, and that’s just the stuff I can think of off the top of my head. My boss, our worship leader, told us a few months ago about this workshop and asked if anyone was interested in going. There were about 30 of us that went.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I thought we’d be singing more. We did sing, and we did prepare a bit for the concert we gave last Sunday evening (link here, but it’s very perishable so if it doesn’t work, sorry). Mostly he told us about his experiences, what he’s learned, and where the idea for the choir comes from. Turns out it was God’s idea. Neat story — from 2 Chronicles 5 verses 11-14 (English Standard Version):
11 And when the priests came out of the Holy Place (for all the priests who were present had consecrated themselves, without regard to their divisions, 12 and all the Levitical singers, Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun, their sons and kinsmen, arrayed in fine linen, with cymbals, harps, and lyres, stood east of the altar with 120 priests who were trumpeters; 13 and it was the duty of the trumpeters and singers to make themselves heard in unison in praise and thanksgiving to the Lord), and when the song was raised, with trumpets and cymbals and other musical instruments, in praise to the Lord,
“For he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever,”
the house, the house of the Lord, was filled with a cloud, 14 so that the priests could not stand to minister because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled the house of God.
From 2 Chronicles 20 verses 1-24:
20 After this the Moabites and Ammonites, and with them some of the Meunites,[a] came against Jehoshaphat for battle. 2 Some men came and told Jehoshaphat, “A great multitude is coming against you from Edom,[b] from beyond the sea; and, behold, they are in Hazazon-tamar” (that is, Engedi). 3 Then Jehoshaphat was afraid and set his face to seek the Lord, and proclaimed a fast throughout all Judah. 4 And Judah assembled to seek help from the Lord; from all the cities of Judah they came to seek the Lord.
5 And Jehoshaphat stood in the assembly of Judah and Jerusalem, in the house of the Lord, before the new court, 6 and said, “O Lord, God of our fathers, are you not God in heaven? You rule over all the kingdoms of the nations. In your hand are power and might, so that none is able to withstand you. 7 Did you not, our God, drive out the inhabitants of this land before your people Israel, and give it forever to the descendants of Abraham your friend? 8 And they have lived in it and have built for you in it a sanctuary for your name, saying, 9 ‘If disaster comes upon us, the sword, judgment,[c] or pestilence, or famine, we will stand before this house and before you—for your name is in this house—and cry out to you in our affliction, and you will hear and save.’ 10 And now behold, the men of Ammon and Moab and Mount Seir, whom you would not let Israel invade when they came from the land of Egypt, and whom they avoided and did not destroy— 11 behold, they reward us by coming to drive us out of your possession, which you have given us to inherit. 12 O our God, will you not execute judgment on them? For we are powerless against this great horde that is coming against us. We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you.”
13 Meanwhile all Judah stood before the Lord, with their little ones, their wives, and their children. 14 And the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jahaziel the son of Zechariah, son of Benaiah, son of Jeiel, son of Mattaniah, a Levite of the sons of Asaph, in the midst of the assembly. 15 And he said, “Listen, all Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem and King Jehoshaphat: Thus says the Lord to you, ‘Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours but God’s. 16 Tomorrow go down against them. Behold, they will come up by the ascent of Ziz. You will find them at the end of the valley, east of the wilderness of Jeruel. 17 You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem.’ Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed. Tomorrow go out against them, and the Lord will be with you.”
18 Then Jehoshaphat bowed his head with his face to the ground, and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem fell down before the Lord, worshiping the Lord. 19 And the Levites, of the Kohathites and the Korahites, stood up to praise the Lord, the God of Israel, with a very loud voice.
20 And they rose early in the morning and went out into the wilderness of Tekoa. And when they went out, Jehoshaphat stood and said, “Hear me, Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem! Believe in the Lord your God, and you will be established; believe his prophets, and you will succeed.” 21 And when he had taken counsel with the people, he appointed those who were to sing to the Lord and praise him in holy attire, as they went before the army, and say,
“Give thanks to the Lord,
for his steadfast love endures forever.”22 And when they began to sing and praise, the Lord set an ambush against the men of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir, who had come against Judah, so that they were routed. 23 For the men of Ammon and Moab rose against the inhabitants of Mount Seir, devoting them to destruction, and when they had made an end of the inhabitants of Seir, they all helped to destroy one another.
24 When Judah came to the watchtower of the wilderness, they looked toward the horde, and behold, there[d] were dead bodies lying on the ground; none had escaped.
The parts I bolded to emphasize, if you’ll notice, are the same. The choir sings to give thanks to the Lord, for His steadfast loves endures forever. Notice also that the choir went out first, before the army. Picture that, a bunch of singers leading the way into battle. Note also that Jahaziel was a Levite — a choir member.
Dave Williamson told us we’re called by God to lead worship. We’re not just a group of people singing songs during a service, we’re part of the worship leadership. One of the things we did during the workshop was take communion. When we passed the communion tray we said to the person we were passing it to, “God has called you to lead His people into His presence.” The person receiving the tray responded, “I accept that calling.” And he told us we needed to be prayer warriors also, that a choir that prays together is empowered by God to bring His glory into view.
It was a life-changing weekend, people. Certainly a perspective shift. He also gave us a little training on singing. One lesson involved how important it is to open your mouth while singing. Seems like a no-brainer, but he said he sees choirs all the time with members who barely open their mouths. So he had us do an exercise of sorts. First, we sang “Amazing Grace” while keeping our mouths almost closed. “Do the best you can,” he said, “but just barely open your mouth.” We got through the verse, and then he told us to sing it again, only this time opening our mouths wider than we usually did, wider than we were comfortable doing. The difference was amazing. I never thought about how opening my mouth matters, especially since I’m still afraid someone will actually hear me. Yes, it’s stupid.
I do wish the whole choir had been able to come. It would have made a huge difference. But I guess those of us who went can pass the information on to those who didn’t. Certainly the boss can.
I bought Dave Williamson’s book. Still working my way through it. It’s making a huge difference in the way I think about singing in the choir, too.
Good stuff, y’all. Good stuff.
Another Stress Test
I had a stress test last year, when I was having chest pains and dizziness and so on. When I went in for my annual checkup — at least, it’s looking like it’ll be annual — the doc decided he wanted to run another one. Seems I have a murmur. And my right aortic valve is leaking. I think that’s what he said. The calcification on the valves are preventing the valve from closing properly, and blood leaks back into my heart. Which I suppose is what’s causing the murmur.
And then he says it’s nothing to worry about. Well. It’s not his heart, is it?
So I went in for a second stress test. Every bit as much fun as the first, although we didn’t talk about Graham-Rudman this time. We talked about smart phones. Neither the tech nor the doc has one, and they’re planning on keeping it that way. They’re smarter than I am — certainly their bills are way smaller than mine. *sigh*
The follow-up is next week. Here’s hoping there haven’t been any dire developments.
By the way — my chest pains stopped right about the time I changed jobs. Apparently not getting screamed and cursed at has had a beneficial effect. Go figure.
Worship Leader Challenge
I’d dare my boss to do this, but he’s just nuts enough — he might.
I also found a comment on another one of Tim Hawkins’ videos that I’d like to share with you:
Between Tim Hawkins and some Bob Rivers Christmas songs I’ve played him, I’ve created a monster in our worship leader at church. Last practice I heard the band doing “Silent Night” to the tune of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.” Hysterical! You can do a lot of songs to the tune of “House of the Rising Sun,” and the lyrics of “Amazing Grace” will fit a lot of tunes as well–from the theme to Gilligan’s Island to the aforementioned “House of the Rising Sun.”
It’s a lot of fun.
The commenter’s handle is stanacc, and he’s (she’s?) right. Amazing Grace works well with the theme from Gilligan’s Island, I tried it, but I didn’t get very far because I was laughing so hard. House of the Rising Sun, ditto. I wonder what else it works with….
If You Have to Tell Me Three Times…
… your veracity becomes suspect.
As seen on Facebook (and there are a lot of these videos making the rounds, with similar commentary attached):
Reminds me of the tenant we had to deal with at my last job at the real estate company. She and her husband came in to apply to rent one of the properties we managed, and she kept telling me over and over, “I’m honest. I tell the truth.” Turned out the only thing she and her husband didn’t lie about on the application was their gender, and I may be wrong about that too.
Oy, vey. As to the video, no I didn’t watch it. I’m not interested. Even if it’s frickin’ hilarious.
As Seen in the Columbia Paper This Morning
I don’t know if this is a post about the declining level of journalism in this country — which doesn’t have much farther to fall, really, before it’s subterranean — or a post about the general stupidity of The Left.
This article was in The State newspaper this morning. It’s about a law recently passed in Mississippi that requires “authorities” — not sure who that is, exactly — to “collect umbilical cord blood and run DNA tests to prove paternity as a step toward prosecuting statutory rape cases.” This only applies when the mother is a girl younger than 16, and who won’t name the father.
Of course the immediate argument revolves around invasion of privacy. I’m not going to get into that, as I don’t know the details of how the law came to be created in the first place, let alone enacted. The statement that caught my attention was this one, and if you didn’t bother to read down into the fifth paragraph, you’d have never seen it.
But Bear Atwood, legal director for the American Civil Liberties Union of Mississippi, said it’s an invasion of privacy to collect cord blood without consent of the mother, father and baby.
If the mother won’t name the father, how do they get the father’s consent? And… the baby? They have to get the baby’s consent? Really? How do they manage that?
I suppose it’s possible it’s a misquote. It’s also possible that Bear Atwood actually said that because she (yes, some parents somewhere named their daughter “Bear”, we don’t know why) is an idiot.
We’ll probably never know. But I wanted to report it to you. You’re welcome.
I’ve mentioned this before, but to make the situation clearer I’ll do it again. I work part-time at the church I go to. Sixteen hours a week, Monday through Thursday from 1 to 5 p.m. More or less. Now that we’re gearing up for the Singing Christmas Tree it’ll be more, but it’s never going to be full-time. It just isn’t. The budget won’t support it and there isn’t enough to do. Usually. Plus with the advent of Obamacare they’d have to provide health insurance, and even this church can’t afford that.
[Edit to add: Actually, they don’t have enough employees, so they’d never have to provide healthcare. There still isn’t enough to do to justify making me full-time.]
A couple weeks ago I sent out notification postcards to the Singing Christmas Tree members from last year, plus some folks who used to be members in years past but didn’t come last year for whatever reason, plus some prospects that we’d like to include this year. Total number of cards sent out was 172. We have places for 144 people on the Tree, but even if everybody shows up (and they won’t) the attrition over the next few months will take it below the maximum.
Anyway, the postcard included the date and location for the first rehearsal plus the church office’s phone number, in case someone had a question.
Thursday afternoon when I got to the office, and I was in a foul mood due to the argument I was having with one of the flutists in our flute trio (see the post below), I was told by our office manager that she and the other woman who works in the office were having to field phone calls about the Singing Christmas Tree and she said it would be better next year if the phone number I put on the postcard was “my” line, which is line #4 on the phones.
Because they don’t want to have to answer Singing Christmas Tree questions.
Okay, let’s consider that for a bit. There are 4 phone lines that come into the office, or maybe 5 — I’m not there so I can’t look. There is also a prayer line which nobody ever answers, it’s hooked up to a machine that plays the recording including who’s in the hospital, who’s sick, or whoever else needs prayers. When the phone rings it’s usually one of the first two lines. On the rare occasion when I’m in my office and the phone rings and I can see two lines are already tied up, I assume both of the other two women are on the phone and I’ll pick up. I don’t care which line it is (except for the prayer line), just that if the phone rings it gets answered by somebody. That’s how I was trained, beginning back in 1977 when I was working for a security alarm company. The phone rings, it gets answered. If the call isn’t for you and the person it’s for isn’t there, you take a message. Nowadays you can forward the call to voice mail if your office has that capability (at my previous job, we didn’t — the boss didn’t want to pay for it), but the outcome is the same — the call gets answered and the person on the other end is heard. It’s a professionalism thing. Plus, we’re a church. We’re not supposed to ignore people.
If “my” line rings and I’m not there, which is every weekday from 8:30 in the morning to one p.m. except on Friday, when I don’t come in at all, who answers? Do they ignore it, let it go to voice mail? I’ve never called to find out — I guess I could, nobody’s there now, just to see what happens — does it go directly to my voice mail, or does it give the caller a choice, a list of names and extensions? And during the week, when the office is open, do they really just blow off an incoming call because it’s a line they don’t usually answer?
Well, maybe. Thursday afternoon the boss told me he calls the office sometimes early in the morning, and routinely they don’t answer. Not even after 8:30, when the machine is supposed to be turned off and real people are supposed to answer. He also said — and he’s said this before — that the other two women don’t want to help with the Singing Christmas Tree. When the time comes for the tickets to be available and people will be calling to order them or coming in to get them, they will expect me to be there to take care of that, because it’s not their problem.
That baffles me. I suppose it’s because I’ve worked forever in situations that demanded teamwork. Not that I don’t understand the line between “my job” and “your job”, but that taking a message that involves you and “your job” isn’t above and beyond. It’s just — teamwork. Cooperation. Mutual support. All that good stuff.
And we’re a church. Shouldn’t that teamwork/cooperation/mutual support thing be part and parcel of the job?
I guess not. Not if you’re one of the other two women who work in the office. Who, according to my boss, would have more time to actually work if there was less time spent on Pinterest and surfing the InterTubes.
I don’t have time to spend on Pinterest — whatever that is — or surf the InterTubes at work. And my job encompasses only part of the church’s business. How do they have time to waste?
I’m only asking.
Oh, well, More pointless grousing. Nothing will change. Go back to what you were doing.
Perfect Is the Enemy of Good
I’m in a flute trio (that used to be a flute quartet but one of us quit). We’re all amateur musicians, which doesn’t mean we can’t play well, just that we don’t make a living playing music. We’ve been together since about September of last year, I think. Our first gig was in November of last year. We have yet to be paid, except in food, and not counting the tips we’ve gotten from the two Farmers’ Market appearances (totaling about $25, I think, and we spent it all on lunch).
One of our members is an extremely talented musician. She’s really, really good. She gets tapped around the community to play for people — weddings, mostly. She’s also something of a perfectionist.
Here’s the thing — keeping three flutes in tune with each other isn’t easy. There are notes on the flute that routinely come out sharp (higher notes, mostly) and flat (in the lower end of the instrument’s range). You have to learn how to counteract that, and you have to develop an ear so you know where you are in relation to the other players. Listening is important. Adjusting immediately when necessary is important. And you have to be able to do all that while playing your own part correctly and with musicality.
And all that takes practice. That’s all. There is no secret formula, it’s not complicated. You have to practice.
Our perfectionist member occasionally lectures us on intonation. She hasn’t done it in awhile, so I figure we’re about due another one. Maybe the next time we get together — we’re preparing for our next performance, which unless something changes will be at my church on September 8th. We had a discussion earlier this week about what we were going to play. The perfectionist wanted us to play what we played last Sunday at the church the other member goes to. For the prelude we played The Prayer, for the offertory we played Amazing Grace. Both perfectly presentable tunes, appropriate for church.
When I talked to my boss about playing in church (he asked me if I thought we could play there when I told him I wouldn’t be at the service last Sunday, and why) he didn’t ask what we’d be playing, probably figuring we’d sort it out later, along with the date. He had all of August planned, so September was the earliest he could schedule us. During a conversation I had with him Wednesday I offered to bring my folder in so he could see what we’ve got in our repertoire and pick something. I sent an email to the other two members to let them know, and the next morning I opened my email to find a diatribe from the perfectionist, in which she ripped my head off. Bear in mind before reading this — I can’t replicate her tone, but I am familiar with it. Also, my boss is a musician. He (and his sons) are better at music than I am ever going to be at anything, and they’re better at music than the perfectionist. So, here’s what she had to say:
I do not think we have all that’s in our folder worked up. I thought we were offering to play the pieces he has heard us play on the tape. He has no idea how we sound on the others….some are ok, others, not so much. True, never will be perfect, and he does not expect that. However, we need to offer what is potentially ok. I am usually the picky one about elements we need to address. That might be a whole other conversation.
Asking him to choose from our folder seems unusual, when we have not ranked the pieces ourselves as far as how we view the quality of our progress on them, and what we would prefer to play. . I hear the next comment coming,…..that we can learn whatever he selects…….yes, maybe that’s true, maybe not.
On the idea of him providing supporting chords…….we are taking musicality…..I trust [my boss’ name redacted], and believe he would have good judgment not to cover us up, etc. about how he could add whatever. However, it might require more practice than we have available to put it all together….but I know whatever [my boss’ name redacted] adds himself would be musically nice.
None of that seems too offensive, if you don’t know her personally. But I do. And it was only the beginning of the dust-up, but even at this point I was aware that I had committed a huge error in offering to set it up; I should have left it to our gigmaster, the other flutist, whose idea it was in the first place to put a flute group together. I will confess to throwing my hands up and the towel in, and saying so in the next email. She objected, but she didn’t relent on our choosing what we would offer rather than asking him what he wanted.
At this point, I’ll say that nothing in our folder is difficult. Nothing. We have over a month to polish something sufficiently, which is more than enough time.
In subsequent emails we all agreed, sort of, that the date was fine and we’d discuss what to play. In the next conversation I had with the boss he said he didn’t really care what we played, just that we’d play the prelude and the offertory and he wanted to accompany us on the marimba. And if the marimba didn’t work out he’d accompany us on the keyboard. The perfectionist was concerned he’d overpower us. This is, frankly, ridiculous. Three flutes versus a marimba? He wouldn’t have a prayer, even if he were so inclined. Which he isn’t — he’s a musician, for cryin’ out loud.
*sigh* I had a conversation with the other flutist Thursday evening when we all showed up for the summer band’s penultimate concert, and she doesn’t want to play the pieces we played for her church. She wants to play something else. So do I. There’s nothing wrong with what we played, but those pieces aren’t all we know. She also said she was weary of the perfectionist acting as if she were in charge and got to decide what we would and wouldn’t do.
Me too.
If anyone’s reading this (besides me), I’m sure you’re rolling your eyes at the triviality of the whole thing. And you’re probably right, none of this is important in the general scheme of things. But when the other flutist made a comment that included the possibility of asking the perfectionist to leave the group — well, that got my attention. If that happens, and it might (she apparently was the reason the fourth flutist quit — after being badgered about intonation, etc.) the fallout is going to be considerable. I’ll see her every week in band rehearsal, we’ve played together for many years, we’re both members of the local women’s music club…. It’s just going to be frosty. Forever. I’ll never be allowed to forget it.
But if her departure will bring the fourth one back, plus others that so far might be put off by playing with the perfectionist, who was passing sticky notes with instructions to the rest of the flute section in the summer band — not well received — maybe it’ll be worth the heartburn.
I don’t know. I just don’t know. I guess I need to leave it to God, because I have no answers here, other than, “Aaaaaaaauuuuggghhh!!!!”
Cheers, y’all.
Edit to add: I meant to mention this, as it’s an integral part of why I’m so angry — My boss told me Thursday afternoon during our conversation that he’d seen the emails the perfectionist and I were lobbing at each other. At the time I was surprised that he’d seen them, as I hadn’t included him in the address list, just hit “reply” and then added the other flutist, as the perfectionist seemed intent on cutting her out of the conversation. But I didn’t ask him how he’d seen them. Later I went back to the messages and checked the addressees. He was not there. How did he see them? The perfectionist BCC’d him. She wanted him to see what was going on but she didn’t have the nerve to let me know she was sending them to him. Sneaky, underhanded and manipulative. Also completely in character. So I’m not letting this go. I have suspected for years that she and I weren’t really friends, and this confirms it. So it goes. I won’t forget, though. It’s sad, but I didn’t get a vote about what she did. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed by anything I said, there’s nothing I wouldn’t have said had he been standing there, but I was under the impression that the discussion was between us flutes. And I was wrong.
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