Elgan speaks
...and her words thunder across the land

Broken dishwasher blues.

Tuesday, Jan. 12, 2010
2:24 p.m.
My resolution to update daily got waylaid over the past couple of days. Hubby and I were working intensively to get his score and parts ready for emailing to the two different opera companies which will be playing them end of February/beginning of March. Hopefully now that that is done, I will be able to keep with my good intentions.

The dish washing experiment is yielding fruit, not fruit flies. It’s too cold for that. Last night there were so many dishes on the counter that had been piling up during the day on account of the proofreading and correcting, that Hubby was tempted to leave them for the cleaning lady this morning. In a fit of guilt, he ended up doing them before bed, just leaving the pizza pan to soak. Yes, we were so under the gun that I baked a frozen pizza for supper.

Today is the first day in days that I have been out of the house. I dropped Hubby off at the university (classes have begun), then went to the bank, bought coffee and dark chocolate and a little something for Little Princess (and even though she doesn’t read this diary, I still don’t want to give it away here) which I will bring her hopefully next weekend. I also stopped at the health food store on my way back for tofu, tea tree oil and fennel tisane. I find the latter helps Hubby with a dry cough that’s been plaguing him persistently for weeks now.

One of the things that had been put on hold while I wore my copyist hat was practising singing and learning a bunch of new tunes for our blues concert in February. We have a rehearsal with Grandpa Mike on Thursday, and I hadn’t learned a single one. Today I spent some time singing Schubert and some of the other songs, and realized that the last time I sang was December 29, too long ago. My voice does not react well to disuse.

Speaking of my voice, not the voices in my head which are a different thing altogether, I had an interesting experience last night. Hubby has a new laptop, courtesy of the university, and he was loading all his music on it from his old one (also university property) and playing it in the process. There were concerts of us performing together, him on classical guitar, and I was amazed at how good I sounded. When I hear stuff like that, I have to ask why I’m almost 53 copying music and teaching singing to a paucity of students at a university in the backwoods which no one has heard of instead of having a career as a professional singer. Hubby’s response is, “You don’t prostitute yourself.” I guess that’s it, eh? It’s not how good you are, it’s how willing you are to sell your soul.



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