The donkey

This morning at church we had a special musical program.   It was the Easter version of Lessons and Carols.   The handbell choir didn't perform any solo numbers, but some of us accompanied the choir on a couple of pieces. We were in the choir loft where space is limited.  So to avoid mass confusion and potential disruption of the service, Jane decided only one person should be responsible for setting up the bells for each piece.  I'm not sure how she decided that one person should be me. 

I had a list of what was supposed to go where, but not where it was coming from.   I was terrified of screwing up and being responsible for someone playing the wrong note or not having a bell.  Jane assured me that I'd have plenty of time to move things into place while the choir was singing other hymns.  I told the choir members to be prepared to just ignore me when I panicked.  They thought I was kidding. 

I was furiously making notes right before the service.  Jane looked over in concern and asked if I was going to be okay.  I assured her that by the time I was finished diagramming everything, I'd be fine.   Apparently the other ringers felt sorry for me, or were afraid to leave their bells in my hands, so a couple of them organized their own bells.  Which made all my notes and diagramming worthless. 

Fortunately, all of the bells did get to the right places at the right time.  I didn't manage to ring mine at all of the right times, but everything worked out fine.  I even got listed in the bulletin as an assistant not just a ringer.   Which was especially generous of Jane since I skipped practice last Sunday in favor of watching  Carolina lose the Championship game in the ACC Tournament. 

I'm not sure if there was a lesson there or not.  After I told Jane that being in the vocal choir would interfere with watching my ice hockey in the winter, the NHL lockout happened and there was no ice hockey for half a season.  I'm beginning to think someone's trying to tell me I need to reorder my priorities.

At least I'm in church often enough that the preacher knows my name.  Dad still claims he can't hear and only goes when we're doing a full handbell concert.  He's been known to skip those if there's a game on tv that he wants to see.  Oh God, I'm becoming my father.