feklar and a nap cheered me up some, and when I set out for dress rehearsal that evening, it was snowing, little tiny snow that glimmered in the street lights. I'd left home early on purpose, so I could take a walk to wake up. At Rittenhouse Square, the Christmas lights were on in the trees, and one of the churches on Walnut Street was change ringing, that sort of inexorable chiming, not quite melodic, that feels like magic to me. I sat on a bench for about a quarter of an hour, my feet slowly growing cold, and listened.Rehearsal was downtown, in the tiny jewelbox Anglican church where our conductor is choirmaster. It's all grey stone and dim lighting, with flashes of paint and ornate gilding closer to the altar. There wasn't room for both choir and orchestra, so we sat in the plain wooden pews, facing the instrumentalists. It was the most comfortable and intimate dress rehearsal I've ever experienced, a perfect atmosphere for the intricacy of Bach.
Earlier, I'd been grumpy about giving up my weekend, but after a few minutes I realized how blessed I am, to be able to spend a Saturday evening making music and getting an up-close-and-personal performance at the same time.
The concert on Sunday, out in Chestnut Hill, went great. They had to put extra chairs along the outer walls to accomodate the audience. After, we retreated to the home of a couple of our members, which was just down the road, and ate and drank and talked and sang Christmas carols.
Welcome, winter!
