The choir's concert is tomorrow night. We are singing a new work by an Australian composer, George Palmer, with Yvonne Kenny as soloist. We were rehearsing this evening, but I came home early sick with a migraine. The general stress level in my life probably had quite a lot to do with this, having been aggravated these last few days by demands for even more documents, but the trigger was the total abortion of the concert programme. The 'serious' work is modern, and quite beautiful and dramatic, but the other half of the programme is pop stuff. With soloists who are pop singers, who writhe and gyrate and fling themselves about generally, and whose music is amplified to torture levels, and, far, far worse, uses strobe lighting. That is enough to trigger a migraine.
I had to leave, assisted by a fellow chorister, and our choral director came around and sympathised, and it is now organised that I can come on and sing the serious work, and afterwards melt quietly away.
How do people tolerate the excessive noise levels which are inflicted daily on the unwitting and at times witless public? They cause hearing damage, and tinnitus, and probably once they all go deaf, the sounds (cannot really call it music) will be turned up to even more damaging levels.
My daughter is here briefly, busy with her work, but it is lovely to have her here. Even if I did have to go out and leave her to cook her own dinner. She has gone off to bed, and so shall I, as soon as I swallow another pill. Until I fall asleep I will probably continue to brood about excessive noise, rotten taste in music, migraine triggers, motor bike riders hooning around the neighbourhood, aeroplanes still flying overhead at 2 am, power blackouts, the cost of printer ink, pathology results, motorists going through red lights, inability to find anything, loud drunks from the local pub, smashed glass on the footpaths, and so on and so forth. Harbingers and triggers of gloom and doom.
But I shall find strength and comfort in the beauty of other music, and the goodness and kindness of true friends and family. And the true power of song.
The cumquat marmalade I made two days ago seems to be a good batch. Good enough to eat.
I shall not falter or buckle under pressure. Not if I can help it.
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3 comments:
Earplugs and deep breathing! Daily neccessities. I had this fantasy that, as I grew older, life would slow down to a comfortable amble; that I would have more time to read, sew and think; that there would be much less to worry about. I have been proven wrong. Don't need the earplugs so much, but I'm constantly reminding myself that if I breathe deeply I might muddle through until tomorrow! Courage Persi!
That marmalade sounds delicious! So glad you don't have to sing in the strident part. Have to say it sounds like a very odd contrast. Enjoy having your daughter with you.
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