Sunday Morning

My voice. I had one. I could say I still have a voice, that I sing. But it's not the way it used to be. 

Well, what is.

Let me get this in here before I forget. I directed a large group of young men and women, preparing them to go down to Salt Lake to sing in the Church's final June Conference. Among the music we learned and sang very well, thanks to me, Lucille Wilson, and those kids, was the Beethoven Hallelujah. Thrilling. 

I also directed that piece with a large stake choir in Nampa Stake. Again, Lucille Wilson accompanying. This morning I heard the Tabernacle Choir sing it, and I wept through the whole thing.

Why? you ask. I can think of a few reasons. Only one is that it is exciting and beautiful. The rest have to do with me.

That's the news

I went to have my hair done today. Yes, I have become one of those women. But that's not what this is about.

It's about Gwen and Blake, whose pictures were on the cover of the People magazine I picked up. The bold teaser/headline/whatever said:

Gwen and Blake
Their Untold
Love Story

I said, "How's that possible?" You know, the untold part.

My hair looks good; it's raining. Gwen and Blake are getting married; she's pregnant; oh joy! Different magazine, same stuff.

Spring Cleaning

It's something the sparrows do. 

They go into that birdhouse Paul built and pull out all the stuff from last year's nest. It sits for awhile on the deck railing, in front of their house, then is blown off or pushed off by the birds. I never see which. 

Just this week, the sparrows have completed the cleaning. Now one of them--pretty sure it's the woman of the house--sits on the railing, and I don't know why. Waiting for what? Perhaps her husband is off gathering materials for a new nest.

I can watch them from my bedroom window. I have not sat there long enough to see more than I have reported here. But I need to. I will.

When I was young I thought people who watched birds were . . .  old, maybe, or stupid, should "get a life." Now I'm fascinated by what these birds and the finches do. Of course, I'm also old.