Make a Joyful Noise
I always sang melody. Because it's all about me and not about the music, not about the choir. Now in my middle years the melody has drifted away somewhere – out of reach of my grasping fingers. I'm trying to sing alto, fumbling for that counter note - the one that's not there in my head.
My first choir practice I try to hear that note under the insistence that is melody. I'm listening, catching it some of the time. And then, I was a teenager sitting on that second row in the choir at Brookford Baptist Church. In my ear I could hear Mrs. Holsclaw (who always wanted us to make a big deal of the "s" sound at the ends of words). And there was my grandmother – as natural an alto as you ever heard. She gave that gift to my aunt Emily, who shares it with my Dad at the nursing home on Sundays. I heard them all right there and for a while the noise I made was actually music. I found that note and the sound was so sweet that it almost made me cry.
Mamaw & Emily