Choir Bells

Growing up, I sang in the children’s choir at my church. We would rehearse every Thursday night and sing about once a month in front of the congregation. We were cute and slightly tone deaf. And, like most amateur children’s choirs there was always at least one kid who took the term “projection” a little too seriously and yelled most of the lyrics. You know the one. But, for the most part, we were prepared and rehearsed for these events.

One performance in particular is engraved in my mind, much like all the other mortifying moments in my life. We had practiced a very special song, in which half of the choir was given hand chimes to play while singing. We were told that these chimes were fragile instruments and we must be very careful with them. I felt special to be awarded one of these chimes, as it meant the choir director felt I was coordinated enough to sing while keeping beat and playing my chime at the correct time. I took my chime playing very seriously. After all, I took piano lessons. I must be better than these other simpletons at reading music and playing on the correct beats.



After much rehearsal, the day finally came when we were to perform the chime song! We sat in the front row with our hand chimes and waited patiently for the announcements and hymns. Finally, the time came to shuffle out of the pews and line up in front of the church. I stood tall with my chime in hand, eager to begin counting the beats to my shining moments. The song began. My note was coming up, so I raised the chime in preparation. The moment came. I proudly brought my chime down with force…only to see the rubber ball meant to produce the sound in the chime fly off into the audience.



I hear some muffled laughter. As the song continues without me, I quickly walk over to where the rubber ball fell and try to re-attach it to the instrument. I walk back to my fellow choir mates and prepare myself for the next note. It comes and once again I raise my chime and bring it down, perhaps a little less forcefully. The rubber ball once again flies off into the audience. More laughter, louder this time.



Luckily, I am already insecure enough to respond to embarrassment or tension with laughter. I laugh and pretend I am ok with this. The song ends. I walk to my parent’s pew in shame. People grin at me in what I’m sure they think says “you are small and it is cute when you mess up,” but it is translated in my elementary school brain as “you are a failure at seemingly simple tasks.” And so begins my fear of audiences.

How My Love Of Dogs Will Get Me Arrested.

I have a really cute dog that is basically the fourth child in my family. She is very needy and reminds me of a toddler. Because of my affection and over protectiveness for this big brown-eyed Cocker Spaniel,

I find myself also feeling overprotective of other dogs. We never let Kelsey…(That’s her name. It starts with a K because the kids in my family are Kevin, Karla and Krista. Not confusing at all.)…anyway, we never let her out without a leash, because she lacks all common sense. She runs after Chipmunks and thinks they magically disappear when they climb up trees and she enigmatically prances around the woods in confusion. She attacks the vacuum and any other moving object such as remote control toy cars and boats. She barks furiously at other dogs (especially little white ones because she is racist) until they retaliate and she hides behind our legs. She is clumsy and falls off our dock into the lake and runs into the glass door behind the screen door when we let her in. One time, when investigating the smells underneath the family cottage, she came trotting out proudly with a giant porcupine needle sticking out of her nose. She is also extremely anxious and needy and cries whenever we leave her alone. That is why I feel concerned and confused when I see dogs off their leashes and wandering around by themselves.

Sometimes when I am driving, I’ll see a dog cross the road, or walking down a sidewalk and think: “if Kelsey were doing that, it would mean she was lost and I would want someone to stop and save her before she wandered off a cliff or tried to attack a car.” I then proceed to pull over and gently coax the dog toward me so I can be a hero and save the dog from evil transformer cars and it wouldn’t have to travel over mountains and go over waterfalls like the animals did in Homeward Bound. (Oh, Shadow…) I have done this more than a few times. And without fail, every single time the dog is not actually lost, but wandering near the house it lives in. And I look like a fool. One of those times my sister shared in my shame:

We saw a dog walking along the sidewalk and my sister said, “I think I saw a lost dog poster that had a picture that looked like that dog.” We stopped the car and started chasing the dog around so we could see it’s collar. It looked like this:

Then the owner came out, calling for the dog. He saw this:

Needless to say, we stopped chasing the dog, got back in the car, and drove away looking like evil dog bandits. Or the twins from The Shining. And that is probably how I will eventually get arrested.

The End.