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

The deed is done.

Saturday, Feb. 21, 2009
9:29 p.m.
The past week has been fraught with stuff. So many times I wanted to update, and just as many times something distracted me and I put it off. For instance, on Tuesday I met Ed as I was going to the bookstore to buy a binder for my teaching notes, and walked him back to the building where he was going to engage in a study session. The weather was quite nice, so we lingered in the sunshine before parting ways, and started discussing the smokers who gather around the door (instead of the nine metres required by law). Ed had the idea that they should just commit suicide and be done with it and charge admission. A young man standing nearby overheard us and came over to ask if he had heard correctly. I assured him he had, and thanked him for paying attention. I then asked him why he persisted in smoking.

He told us that when he was 14, he had seen his brother blow a smoke ring and this had impressed him so much that he took up smoking so that he would be able to duplicate his sibling’s feat, not realizing that he wouldn’t be able to give it up once he had succeeded. I suggested that maybe it was time, especially considering what it was probably costing him. He was about 28 years old, this fellow, cute, curly hair, wire-framed glasses. Anyway, that was that, I thought.

Then on Thursday I was on my way to Spanish class through the same doors we had been standing by before, and this fellow was there again, smoking a quick cigarette before class. I greeted him and went on into my class. Coming out of choir several hours later, he was in the music department lobby, and I saw him and said, “Look! It’s the smoking man!” I gather he was pretty pissed off and he said in a tone that implied he was none-too-pleased with me, “My name is Jason.” I stuck my hand out, grasped his and shook it and said, “Hello, Jason, my name is Eleanor.” Then I continued on my merry way and didn’t see him again after that.

Apropos the red binder, last fall I had bought a new one, a squishy one, to keep my notes in, and my colleague and office mate Ms. Piano saw it and coveted it. But when she went to the bookstore, none remained. I used this all last term, but found that with nine students, it was always a mess. My notes were never in order, pages of photocopied music would get mixed up and it took me forever to find anything. I decided to get an actual three-ring binder and punch holes in everything so that they would stay put. This meant I no longer needed the squishy red binder. I wrote a note to Ms. Piano that explained that I wanted her to have it, and when I saw her next handed it to her. She was absolutely overjoyed. It’s funny how little things like that can make a person’s day.

The big news all week, though, was the build-up for last night’s concert. Our drummer Kevin O was deathly ill, Grandpa Mike couldn’t make it in from Montreal, so Hubby and I practised on Monday and Wednesday nights with the bass player in his basement. We all finally got together on Thursday night for our dress rehearsal on the stage.

I have been terrified that I would get sick. Everyone around me had come down with something, be they students, colleagues or my husband. I popped echinacea, refused to kiss my sweetie, knowing full well that it was a losing battle. At the dress rehearsal I definitely felt something beginning in my throat, not exactly a tickle or soreness, but the feeling that I had to cough and clear it more often than usual. The rehearsal was not over until quite late and we didn’t get home until 1 a.m., where we proceeded to sit at the kitchen table and talk with Grandpa Mike and his girlfriend. I finally went to bed at 2 a.m. I’m not sure when Hubby crawled in.

I woke early on Friday morning because the smell of fresh bread wafting upstairs disturbed my slumbers. I took the loaf out of the breadmaker to cool, and then went back to bed and slept for another couple of hours. We breakfasted with our guests, then I did stuff on the computer, ate lunch at noon, and went to bed after that. I hadn’t sung a note.

At 4:30 p.m. I got up and sat down at the piano to warm up. Lo! I had laryngitis. The notes were all there, the whole range of them, surprisingly, but they were covered with a fog. I started panicking a little. But, after a hot cup of tea and going through all my pieces, then sitting down to a meal of spaghetti, the voice suddenly was back in all its glory. I made a thermos of my agrimony-peppermint tisane, got tarted up and put on my beautiful new dress, and we headed out.

The concert went extremely well. The audience, which was a very decent size, loved it. They even gave us a standing ovation when it was over, prompting us to come back and reprise one of the pieces for an encore. We attended the reception in the lobby (I didn’t get any wine and the students had eaten everything), then broke up our gear and loaded our various vehicles and headed back home. I knew I was truly sick by then, but didn’t really care.

This morning I wouldn’t have been able to sing anything. I could barely speak. I am just grateful I got through last night as well as I did. Grandpa Mike and his girlfriend left, then Hubby drove himself to Burlington to fly to Florida to visit his parents for a few days, and I am all alone in the house. I had tickets to go to the symphony tonight, but couldn’t find a date and really, I don’t feel well enough to sit through a concert of sappy opera overtures dedicated to lovers with a couple of francophone narrators whom I would not understand. Also, I won’t be spreading my evil germs to those around me.

The winner of the poetry contest I was shortlisted for was announced last night, but neither of my kids attended the party and they haven’t posted the successful entry on their website yet, so I’m still in limbo about that one. And that’s all folks.

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