About two months ago my son suggested we do a recital together. He is a “mercenary Episcopalian,” the paid singer/soloist at a nearby Episcopal church. He agreed to do this recital as part of their Sunday afternoon concert series, and the offering to be taken would benefit the church’s music program. Unfortunately, the only date open coincided with the final performance in the Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus’s four-concert series of the Mozart Requiem. (It also ended up coinciding with the launch of a new website for Kent State, for which Tyler had much responsibility. Can you say “stress”?)
Concert week with Cleveland means I have to be at Severance Hall every night of that week. That’s over three-and-a-half hours out of every day just for the driving. Plus an extra half-hour or more (depending on weather and road conditions) to get there, park, walk in, “use the facilities,” find my assigned seat, and take a deep breath. And another three-and-a-half hours for rehearsal/performance. Are you doing the math?
Also during the day I need time to practice my repertoire for the evening rehearsal/performance. And I need to rehearse for my son’s recital. And I’m acting as campaign treasurer for a friend who is running for the Ohio House of Representatives, and the secretary of state doesn’t like treasurers to file late reports.
Of course I wanted a new dress to wear for the performance. To make, not to buy. The problem was finding the time—I already had fabric and patterns.
I carved half-hour and hour-long chunks out of the available time whenever I could. And then this happened, (sharing my Facebook post of Friday morning):
I. Drive. Myself. Crazy. That is all.
(For the appreciation of my creative friends, I sewed the wrong side of the skirt back to the right side of the skirt front. Black fabric with black thread. Double-stitched seams. Now grumbling as I rip out about four yards of thread. Realizing I may not have a new dress to wear to Sunday’s recital. )
And my comment:
Jas – bless his heart – said, “Honey, you have so many beautiful things you can wear. You’re the only person who will know what you’re wearing is not new.”
Last night as we got into bed after I wore my new dress (see next blog post…), I asked the Jazzman if he liked it. He said, “You’re nuts.” Of course, he used his most loving voice to make that comment, but I knew exactly what he meant. I’m good at driving myself crazy.
