For he is like a refiner’s fire.

Turning around in my neighbour’s driveway so I could get the mail before coming inside after our marathon Messiah rehearsal, I noticed the Christmas lights strung on the spruces along his yard all covered with snow, so that the glowing colours are ethereal in their radiance. Everything is coated with a soft whiteness.

The rehearsal was long, very long. The soloists are all quite adequate, but I kept smiling at the pronunciation of the word “the” by the non-anglophones (two francophones and the tenor whose first language is Dutch, I believe). It is the one real thing that sets them apart from native English speakers. They all said thi and we say thuh. It’s so bloody obvious. Anyway, the bass is fantastic, apart from his “the”. The tenor has a tendency to become nasal as he goes up in his register, and the alto has a beautiful voice, but her pronunciation was the worst of all of them. The soprano was our own assistant choir director, who has a truly lovely voice, although I find it’s too much always the same, too sweet, too light. But the audience will love her. And she’s pregnant too, so they’ll really love her.

I hear the car in the driveway, which means Hubby is back from picking Buddy Boy up at the bus depot. I’m out of here.

[Entry No. 2 for today]

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