I heart Wednesdays

I don't have class until 2pm on Wednesdays. For one beautiful day a week, I can sleep past 7:45am (and I don't want to get any beef from people who get up at 5am - I have rehearsals till 1opm regularly and sleeping past 8 is a treat for me) and eat breakfast in my jammies instead of on the train.

I'll catch the train around 11:30am, leisurely eat my lunch at school and do some work before my coaching at 2:30pm, and then gear up for the rest of the evening. I know that I've been waxing lyrical about the commuter train, so here's another vignette:

There is a woman who stands in the same line that I do every time I take the 9am train. She doesn't wear a hat, which I think is kind of silly considering how cold it is outside, she has a very festive striped scarf, and she walks fast like I do. When we get to Back Bay station, she sprints up the stairs to be first in line at Dunkin Donuts. She takes the 6:25pm train home on Mondays like I do, when I don't have night rehearsals, and we get off at the same stop and walk to the grocery store parking lot where our husbands are waiting with the car. There's something comforting about this train routine. It's relatively quiet on the train, usually not crowded, people are reading their Boston Globe or Metro if it's been published that day, sucking down their coffee and waiting to go to Dunkins.

Dunkin Donuts is a part of the culture here in a way that might mirror CC's Coffee House in the New Orleans area. My dear friend Kristy is so addicted to her particularly tweaked Mochasippi that she put it on her latest quiz as an identification question, and I confess that when I lived at home, I spent most of my spare time at the CC's on Gause, shooting the bull with whomever.
Coffee house culture and public transportation. What's not to like?
I don't care for Dunkin Donuts coffee myself. I'm trying to give it a chance, especially because it's closer to the school than Starbucks and infinitely less expensive. They claim to make lattes now, but I'm suspicious of a donut place that claims to make anything other than donuts and coffee. Somehow wrong and slightly pretentious.

Going to eat breakfast with the dog, who has assumed his usual position in the middle of the floor.

doin' the Vatican Rag

As a person who has spent most of her young life working in churches, one might say that I have a jaundiced but well-rounded view of how things are done. I've talked down hysterical brides who are convinced that if they ask second cousin Jeanette to sing she'll totally screw it up or try to steal the glory for herself. I've music directed children's musicals (which is really more like herding cats than music directing) and been a youth choir tour chaperone. In junior high, I worked in the church nursery every Sunday, both services. I've done church camp as a counselor, sunday school as an assistant and a teacher, choir practice as a singer, accompanist, librarian and conductor. I've had sit-downs with clergy about planning the liturgical season and the importance (or unimportance) of the lectionary cycle, and even sat in on budget meetings.

Church is like champagne brunch. There's something for everyone, lots of sweet things, usually a relatively friendly atmosphere, but no one likes to stay afterwards to pay the bill.

I enjoy church on many levels. I'm a church musician so I try to find a church that meets my needs as a musician; I like working with children so I try to make myself useful to childrens' ministries; I'm OCD so I put in a little extra time and help the choir librarian sort music after holiday events that involve lots and lots of music and virtually zero turn-around time.
I enjoy the fellowship of a community so I try to get involved in the congregation, even if I'm an employee because hey, we're all in this together.

I understand my function in a congregation as a parishioner.
I understand my function in a choir as a paid singer.
I consider myself very lucky when these two coincide.

Very few things make me more infuriated than higher-ups on the ladder attempting to exploit my good nature and playing it off to 'Christian fellowship.' Yes, I understand that the church is having budgetary problems. Yes, I am willing to do more than is expected of me to ease things along in this time of transition. Yes, I am willing to hold off for a month looking at other job prospects so that you can see whether or not you have room in your budget to keep me on staff.
And yes, if I leave, I am willing to help you find a replacement for me. But NO, I AM NOT WILLING to sit idly by and not look for another job while you decide whether or not you want to reconfigure your program to suit your vision that you have not discussed with the rest of the staff, or the clergy, or the vestry, because you're trying to not alienate your entire staff of professional singers going into the St. John Passion. And I will NOT be a party to you trying to make nice with everyone because you don't want them all to look for other jobs before the second-biggest liturgical season of the year. And I will really REALLY not tolerate you conveniently moving up our season dates by six weeks because you can't figure out how to manage your money.
My landlord does not care how much I do or do not get paid. And I am sympathetic to church budgetary problems, I really am. But when you try to change the terms of my contract when three weeks previous you told me it was perfectly secure, I get angry. And then, when you tell me that you think I will understand because I'm such a good colleague and I have a good understanding of church fellowship, that's pretty much when I'm done.
Done. As in seeing red, ready to froth at the mouth, DONE.

End of soapbox speech.