So here I am, drinking hot chocolate (made with milk, vanilla, nutmeg, and dark spiced rum), getting ready for another week. I've got a custard pie cooling on the stove1, and it won't be long before I'm in bed with visions of sugarplums (whatever those are) dancing (God forbid) in my head.
It was a weird weekend. Yes, we got the house decorated (mostly; we've a few pieces left), and listened to a lot of Christmas music - a heavy dose of Bing tonight. I had a thing to do for church this morning - I bookended the sermon with readings from A Christmas Carol, in costume and accent, starting with the initial description of Scrooge ("He was a tight-fisted hand to the grindstone, Scrooge...") and ending with Scrooge's redemption ("Scrooge was better than his word; he did it all, and infinitely more...'God bless us, every one.'")
It was fun, but I learned something important. I had the speeches word perfect going into the morning; once I stepped onto the "stage", though, I struggled (though the audience never knew). I had never rehearsed the lines in the environment, so my brain hadn't made the necessary visual connections to help the memorizing. I told pastor Jim that I could have the speech without any flubs or stress if only we could install a shower next to the altar: hose me down and wrap me in a towel, and call it done. Working from the area next to the lectern, I had all kinds of new stuff to look at, and my brain allowed a few distractions. First service had a few pauses; second service only one; third service went without a hitch. Next time, I'm breaking in to the sanctuary on Saturday and running my lines where I'll actually be performing.
It was a source of great stress for me all week. Yeah, I know it's just church, I know that Jim is the most flexible minister ever to take the pulpit, but I look at these performances as a sort of ministry and therefore, they matter, and there's no rehearsal. Well, unless you count first service as a rehearsal. (I'm the same way running multimedia.)
Services aren't videotaped, but I'll gladly post audio of the readings if anyone wants to hear it. The sermon, in case you're interested, was about the redemptive message of the Christmas season, and Dickens' clever use of the name Ebeneezer, which is from the Old Testament and means, "rock of hope."
Anyway, weird weekend, as I said. While Michelle and the kids decorating the house, I was installed in the family room with a couple of sewing machines, making my costume for this morning. I think most folks in my position would grab some old clothes from the back of the closet and make do, but of course I'm not content with that. I made a new waistcoat2 and shirt, bought some slacks from the Salvation Army store and altered them to be more appropriate to 1843-ish (high waisted with braces, and pressed the creases out). Since I don't have the costume shop anymore, I have to compete for space to cut and stitch.
The combination of me sewing and the family decorating has given the house the appearance of having been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Explosive. After church, and a nap if we're to be totally honest, Michelle and I have attempted to get some semblance of order back. Excepting the custard pie, we've made significant progress. There is still much to do.
Me, vacuum? Bah, humbug.
I've a lot to write about this season. I hope I'll have time to get it all down.
1 No, Donal, that's not the same custard pie we talked about on the phone. With talking on the phone and trying to marshal Katie into not adding the hot milk too fast to the eggs, I neglected to add the sugar and vanilla to the first one, ending up with a rather flavorless and unpleasant quiche instead of a sweet, nutmeggy custard.
2 Observant readers who know me from Way Back will recognize the waistcoat: it used to be a gravedigger doublet. I added lapels and a collar, and expanded the front to accomodate an ever-expanding me, and allow buttons.
So here I am, drinking hot chocolate (made with milk, vanilla, nutmeg, and dark spiced rum), getting ready for another week. I've got a custard pie cooling on the stove1, and it won't be long before I'm in bed with visions of sugarplums (whatever those are) dancing (God forbid) in my head.
It was a weird weekend. Yes, we got the house decorated (mostly; we've a few pieces left), and listened to a lot of Christmas music - a heavy dose of Bing tonight. I had a thing to do for church this morning - I bookended the sermon with readings from A Christmas Carol, in costume and accent, starting with the initial description of Scrooge ("He was a tight-fisted hand to the grindstone, Scrooge...") and ending with Scrooge's redemption ("Scrooge was better than his word; he did it all, and infinitely more...'God bless us, every one.'")
It was fun, but I learned something important. I had the speeches word perfect going into the morning; once I stepped onto the "stage", though, I struggled (though the audience never knew). I had never rehearsed the lines in the environment, so my brain hadn't made the necessary visual connections to help the memorizing. I told pastor Jim that I could have the speech without any flubs or stress if only we could install a shower next to the altar: hose me down and wrap me in a towel, and call it done. Working from the area next to the lectern, I had all kinds of new stuff to look at, and my brain allowed a few distractions. First service had a few pauses; second service only one; third service went without a hitch. Next time, I'm breaking in to the sanctuary on Saturday and running my lines where I'll actually be performing.
It was a source of great stress for me all week. Yeah, I know it's just church, I know that Jim is the most flexible minister ever to take the pulpit, but I look at these performances as a sort of ministry and therefore, they matter, and there's no rehearsal. Well, unless you count first service as a rehearsal. (I'm the same way running multimedia.)
Services aren't videotaped, but I'll gladly post audio of the readings if anyone wants to hear it. The sermon, in case you're interested, was about the redemptive message of the Christmas season, and Dickens' clever use of the name Ebeneezer, which is from the Old Testament and means, "rock of hope."
Anyway, weird weekend, as I said. While Michelle and the kids decorating the house, I was installed in the family room with a couple of sewing machines, making my costume for this morning. I think most folks in my position would grab some old clothes from the back of the closet and make do, but of course I'm not content with that. I made a new waistcoat2 and shirt, bought some slacks from the Salvation Army store and altered them to be more appropriate to 1843-ish (high waisted with braces, and pressed the creases out). Since I don't have the costume shop anymore, I have to compete for space to cut and stitch.
The combination of me sewing and the family decorating has given the house the appearance of having been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Explosive. After church, and a nap if we're to be totally honest, Michelle and I have attempted to get some semblance of order back. Excepting the custard pie, we've made significant progress. There is still much to do.
Me, vacuum? Bah, humbug.
I've a lot to write about this season. I hope I'll have time to get it all down.
1 No, Donal, that's not the same custard pie we talked about on the phone. With talking on the phone and trying to marshal Katie into not adding the hot milk too fast to the eggs, I neglected to add the sugar and vanilla to the first one, ending up with a rather flavorless and unpleasant quiche instead of a sweet, nutmeggy custard.
2 Observant readers who know me from Way Back will recognize the waistcoat: it used to be a gravedigger doublet. I added lapels and a collar, and expanded the front to accomodate an ever-expanding me, and allow buttons.
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