During the night while my noise machine was playing rain, it rained real rain. So I had to get up and turn off the machine so I could hear the rain outside. This machine's sounds are amazingly life-like. Mike says that's because they stuck a microphone under the waterfall, or what have you. Doesn't if just kill you how men are so cut and dry? Well, still, real rain is preferable to recorded rain, just as real live music is preferable to notes jumping off a disc. I have issues with that because sometimes my choir director uses a canned accompaniment . . . WHAT??? . . . instead of . . . who? . . . ME?!?!? But I've gotten over it/myself. If the accompaniment is too dinky, I have to admit, in certain cases, the canned accompaniment adds something. Plus, I think some members of the choir enjoy singing to tapes, seems like the soloists do. Plus, sometimes I'm glad for a week off from practicing. Plus, I think the director likes to direct to the big sound. So, I've totally relaxed my standards on this point, good for me.

Mike got brownie points a couple years ago because he and my choir director were discussing and the talk came up about taped accompaniments. I forgot what all was said, but the end result was Mike responding to a question with, Why would I use a tape when I have Kathy? It's funny how a small utterance sometimes can give you that big lift.

Oh, and talking about piano (and this was not at all what I was going to blog about tonight, but KEM goes with the flow, she is learning to be a flowing girl), here's something that amused me. (I love Sweet Tulsa because it doesn't take much to amuse her these days, she's low maintenance, too, just a terrific person.) Well, this wasn't too terribly much, but it amused me. A few months ago I was practicing before the choir arrived to warm up on Sunday morning. These adorable siblings, two girls ages 3 & 4 and a boy age 2, well, they were in the room and came over to stare at me playing the piano. There they stood, stuck to the carpet, not moving, eyes riveted. It was only slightly unnerving. Eventually two wandered off and the 3 year old said, I wish I could play the piano like you. Now, her mother and grandparents are very musically inclined. So I said, Well, one day you will have to have some piano lessons, would you like that? Yes, she would like that, and off she cantered.

Fast-forward to about a month ago and there I was practicing again and these same children came around. This time just the 3 year old stood and watched me play, the others scampered right off. When I got up to leave (the choir wasn't singing that Sunday, I was practicing by myself to accompany the oboist), the little girl said, with adorable little girl squeaky vocal inflections, You're pretty good at the piano. Well, that brought my house down, I couldn't keep from hysterics the rest of the morning. Laughing is the best thing for nerves, too. Years ago I had to play for a school choir at a concert and I felt nervous. But the beginning band played before the choir, and I'm here to tell you, there is nothing like a beginning band to turn ice into warm water in two ticks of the metronome. No offense to beginning musicians anywhere, but it was priceless, and a gift, really, as far as my playing was concerned. When I was a kid I took up clarinet one summer at music day camp. I huffed and puffed with all my might and could barely get a wretched shrill squeak here and there. Really, all I was good for was blowing people out of the building. My mother and sister were duly entertained that summer, and that was the sum total of my band experience. I can't whistle either, which amazes Mike, he can't believe it. Well, I can't believe people who don't eat (and love) their vegetables.

Oh, the above story reminds me of an incident my older lady friend at church just told me. She helps in the Bible club AWANA. She was asked the other night to assist with some younger children whom she doesn't normally work with. So she came up behind a little boy sitting at a table, and standing in back of his chair she placed her hand next to his workbook. He didn't look up at her, just looked at her hand. His question was, staring at the hand, Are you an old person?

Really, it's so cool that little kids don't have the propriety filter. I find it titilatingly refreshing that they speak what comes to mind, which is usually the hard cold truth, but so forgiven because of the cuteness factor. 'Cause when you grow up you have to act proper and dignified . . . (stuffy and boring, JK), cute hardly counts. Well, I do find it to be work to always be on my toes, trying not to offend. It's draining to be thinking one thing but having to say another. Well, I'm right, aren't I? I do pray all the time that God will give me lovely thoughts from the get-go, so I can be an honest woman, but it seems my initial mental impulses are not necessarily generous, usually needing a kindness tweak. For Pete's sake, I need hosing out.

Today when I took my friend shopping, she sat in the car in the parking lot and proceeded to tell me that the pork tenderloin I picked out for her last week, per her request, was not . . . ahem . . . pork tenderloin. It was turkey tenderloin. Well, I guess it was tenderloin, does a turkey have a tender loin?, it sure looked exactly like its pork loin companion, all packaged in a little clear plastic tube thingy, all sitting there together, waiting for an unsuspecting customer . . . me. I looked at her because, after all, I am her helper because her eyesight is poor. It's up to me to READ THE LABELS, for crying out loud. But she said it was delicious and tender and moist and she loved it, but today she was going to try again for the pork. We just cracked up. I'm glad I wasn't fired, whew.

Okay, my warm tapioca puddin' is calling, KEM, KEM.

KEM, the pretty good pianist