I'm blogging right now from my new Mac, and it makes me oh-so-happy. I've never owned one before, so it'll be interesting trying to figure everything out before I leave for school--yikes-- in a few weeks. The Apple Store in Mall of America was crazy busy and slightly intimidating, but we emerged triumphant with a MacBook Pro awhile later.

In the afternoon, my brother and I zipped up to Fort Snelling, where they were hosting a shape note singing get-together. If you want to know more about shape note music (also called Sacred Harp), you'll find me explaining it in this post.

I'd never been to a singing before, and was a bit nervous. I walked into a small schoolroom where singers had gathered.

"Would you like to sing with us?" one of them asked. When I said yes, he said, "There's songbooks over there, fans right there, and water over here. Get those and you can take a seat." I filled up my water bottle, passed on the paper fan, got the songbook, which said The Sacred Harp on the cover, and sat in the alto section. My brother had gone off on his own to explore the rest of the Fort, hang out at the blacksmith's, and watch the cannon presentation, of course.

It was hot and muggy outside, and inside the schoolroom it wasn't much better. Behind me I heard a few mutterings that it wouldn't be a Sacred Harp singing without a lack of air conditioning. The singing got started after about 20 people had gathered. Most of them had been singing Sacred Harp music for a number of years, meeting weekly in the Twin Cities to sing and attending conventions throughout the state and country. I made sure to sit next to one of those people, and luckily, my neighbor could really belt it out. Whenever I lost my place in the music (which happened a lot), I'd just do whatever she did.

Shape note singers sit in a hollow square formation. Anybody can suggest a song, and anybody can get up to lead it from the middle of the hollow square. Leading a song means you give the pitches for Soprano, Alto, Tenor and Bass, and keep the tempo by waving your arm up and down, pretty much. The huge amount of sound we were able to produce was startling. People visiting the Fort would pop their heads in wondering what all the ruckus was, and sometimes they'd even join us.

After an hour we stopped to take a break, because the leader of the cannon presentation had to start presenting outside our door. Certain singers had brought food for a potluck, so we ate and chatted for 20 minutes or so. My observation is that fellowship is as much a part of the Sacred Harp tradition as singing is--and it made things even more fun! Because firstly, the fact that any of us were there meant that we were a very unique, unusual set of people: I met some like me who had first heard of Sacred Harp through the Internet, documentaries, and the movie Cold Mountain. Most of them were my parent's age or older, except for me and a few college-age girls. The resurgence of Sacred Harp has definitely been an intergenerational kind of movement across the country, though. I don't want to say "popularity," because it's still such a fringy thing, like being a Civil War reenactor or speaking Esperanto.

I got talking with one guy who, on finding out it was my first time at a singing, convinced me to lead a song with his help. That was exciting! Of course, as a newcomer, it wasn't always easy to keep up, but it was still by far the funnest and unabashedly nerdiest thing I could have done with my day. The people were welcoming, and the music and energy were exhilarating.

It was weird, though: I went from the Apple Store in the morning, to singing 18th century church music all afternoon. It was a time warp of a day!

Comings and Goings

I have four children, ages 23, 21, 18, and 14.

The 23 year old, after not living at home for four years, is home. Home for the summer, home for a last semester of college this fall. Then we'll see.

Home and remembering house rules. Pick up after yourself. Replace the toilet roll when you use it up. Ask before you borrow the car. Fill the tank. Wash your own dishes. Don't assume all the steak in the freezer is yours. Make your own bed.

Home and contributing to family life. He loves to grill. He doesn't mind physical labor, hot and sweaty garden projects. He offers his technology when the house DVD player breaks down. Nice give and take.

The 21 year old is away. Living on her own, or almost. Taking responsibility for herself, mostly. Until tuition payments are due.

She checks in more frequently than she did when she had something to prove [to herself? to us? to whom?]

The 18 year old is making lists. Phone, checking account, laptop, laundry detergent, and all the other things she needs before she moves to college dorm life.

That one spends more time considering how many musical instruments will fit in her dorm room than she spends on what clothes, books, or gadgets to pack. Latest count: violin, guitar, mandolin, dulcimer [it's small] all go. Piano [it's MINE] stays. Accordion [it's not hers either] goes back to its orginal owner. Cello, that's up for debate. Is there room in her closet?

The fourteen year old schemes and plans about having his bedroom to himself again.

And me? It's going to be quiet in my house this fall.

We're going to have to negotiate cars if the 23 year old plans to commute to school this fall.

I'm proud to see my kids accept the responsibility of independence. And I'm pleased to see they can ask for help [and a spare bedroom] when circumstances warrant that. Love to see them go, see them grow, see them live in community, see them give back where ever they are.

For a long time I've said, healthy birds leave the nest.

But healthy people know when to ask for help, and a temporary home.

Love my kids, coming and going. Growing.

Guilty

I am feeling a lot of Mom Guilt this week.

Emily is gone for the week, and I'm so happy to have the piano all to myself. [guilt, guilt.]

I don't have to have an early morning consultation each day about who gets to practice when.

I just get to practice whenever I want. Whenever I don't have a student. Whenever I feeeeeeel like playing.

[guilt, guilt.]

A good mom would be happy to share her piano.

A good mom would take delight in her child's passion, discipline and drive toward success.

[guilt, guilt.]

I really do take delight in all those things. And, I wish I could have my piano all to myself, at my beck and call, and not have to share.

[guilt, guilt]

Em's got access to a piano where she is.

[happy, happy.]