No sleep for the wicked.
9:12 a.m.
I spent an inordinate amount of money at the grocery store yesterday, loading up on cool cheeses (chêvre, brie, St. André, gouda) and crackers, veggie pâté, baguettes, and bakeable munchies for the reception after the blues concert, I did my nails, washed my hair, tidied the house. Our dress rehearsal was supposed to go from 3:30 to 5:00 tops. The sound guy was late, didn’t get set up until about 5:30 and I got home just before the clock struck 7, having to be back there in less than an hour for an 8 o’clock show. It was insane. Plus, I’d just sung the whole programme. I threw a pizza in the oven (thank the gourd for convenience food), got dressed, made up, bejewelled (I even had sparkles in my hair), and we returned to the scene of the crime.
(An aside here--I also bought junk food: potato and corn chips, salsa, pretzels and two different kinds of pop, and my grocery bill, including all the other goodies, was about $130. I hardly ever buy stuff like that, so I was a little shocked when it came time to swipe my debit card. One of my daughter’s friends works as a check-out girl, and I asked her if, from her observations, people bought a lot of that stuff. She said that, actually, they did. It sort of adds fuel to my fire from yesterday’s post. But I digress.)
So, the concert went well. The audience was not as numerous as we had hoped or dreamed. Maybe a three-quarter crowd (the hall seats 150), but a very appreciative group. The old lady from the manoir who heard our jazz set the night before was there, grooving totally. The sound man apparently did a good job, everyone commented on how good the balance was. I, however, really hate singing into a microphone in a situation like that. I could hear myself in the monitors so I knew I was in tune, but I had no idea how I sounded in the hall. It’s so different from getting acoustic feedback from the walls and ceiling. People came up to me afterwards and were effusive in their praise. A group of female students from Mexico (I recognized their accents) wanted to be photographed with me, which I thought was adorable, and one of my husband’s colleagues, a professor in the chemistry department, told him that it was people like us who made Bushop’s such a great place. That’s pretty high praise.
Some of the musicians (actually, only Grampa Mike) adjourned here afterwards with a lot of students, and much food was eaten (all the heated up pastry things, but very little of the cheese) and beer drunk. It was a nice party. I finally went to bed around 2:00 a.m., but couldn’t fall asleep until Hubby had chased the last of the stragglers out the front door. Then we were up early to make breakfast for Mike and his girlfriend who had stayed in our guestroom overnight. I would love to go back to bed, but the sun is shining, the skies are blue, and I have to take the dead batteries to the recycling pickup in town today. Maybe this afternoon I’ll get a nap.
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