Stacy Horn

In an article about the problems that may arise out of the growing popularity of choral singing, Niall Crowley, a singer in the amateur chorus of Birmingham Opera Company, writes:

“The great danger for today’s choral renaissance is that, in enlisting it to help cure everything from fragmented communities to stress relief, we will drag it down to the level of the mundane. And must we measure everything in terms of health benefits? Should joining a choir become an adjunct to the ‘five a day’ directive? If we concede that choirs are little more than a healthy lifestyle option then it won’t be long before another part of our private lives are colonised and regulated by ‘experts’ and health professionals.

“Choral singing may have curative qualities but if we recast it as just another healthy lifestyle activity, like going to the gym or visiting our GP, then all that’s magical, inspiring and elevating about the choral experience might just melt into air.”

I wonder if he really believes this. First, people participate in activities to varying degrees. Some people read War and Peace and others read Fifty Shades of Grey. I may think the Grey people are missing out, but they’re having fun, so, fine. Second, I joined a choral society for two reasons: I was depressed and I thought singing Christmas music might help, and to meet guys. I had no idea how much more I would get out of singing masterpieces, but I soon found out. So, in the end, what difference does it make why people start?

I would guess he was just raising some interesting points to think about, I don’t think he truly believes there’s any real reason to be concerned. Unless I’m missing something.

At times I need to separate the cats when feeding them, otherwise Bleecker would eat everything in sight. But that often means bringing the food to Finney wherever he is, like curled up on the couch, and then watching like a hawk, otherwise this happens.

I’ve been trying to concentrate on what food I will eat after the bone graft and not the bone graft itself. (It’s happening on Thursday.) Here’s what I have so far. Any suggestions? It just has to be soft. And probably not acidic.

Mac & cheese.
Twice baked potatoes.
Pumpkin pie.
Cheese and bread.
Bananas.

Check out these pumpkins I passed by yesterday. Amazing, no?? Some people are so talented. Of course I feel bad for the scared pumpkin.

I tweeted about this recently. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a lot to talk about. There’s nothing in my head, driving my thinking. I used to feel like I was bursting.

I must be terribly boring to be with these days. Maybe I need to read more, about subjects that are completely foreign to me, to kickstart my brain or something. Does anyone ever feel like this? Maybe my brain is simply taking a rest. But I miss that sparkly feeling of a thousand things flitting through my brain.

I know I’m talking too much about my cats. But … here is some more cat talk. When I look at this picture, I can’t help thinking of all the pictures I’ve taken of me and Buddy (and me and Finney) sitting in this exact same spot, wearing this exact same sweater. I’m so conflicted. I love the new kitten, but I keep seeing Buddy with his head resting against this sweater so happy and content. I was so happy and content.

I just remembered, I having my bone-graft redone (the one I need prior to getting the dental implant) next week. It was a nightmare and I have to do it AGAIN. Poor poor me.

Sayaka said I should pray to Buddy every day for two months, for his spirit to move on. I didn’t pray every day, but often in the mornings I would talk to him. I’d tell him he was the greatest cat ever and he deserved to go to a wonderful place and that I was sure he would.

It’s fitting that I finished my tribute movie to him last night. Today makes two months exactly. As I say in the YouTube description, I realize this movie is probably boring for anyone else to watch, but I worked long and lovingly on it. I cried while touching up the last three photographs of him. His skin was dry and flakey and it showed. Normally I gave him fish oil every day. It was for his general health, but it had the side effect of giving him a luxurious coat. Toward the end, I stopped giving it to him. He always hated it so there was no need to torture him with something that could no longer help him. (You can even see me giving it to him in the movie, after I pill him.)

I’m going to be glad to have this movie to watch from time to time to remember him. But it just makes me cry now.

I was so moved by this essay from the collection Mundo Cruel by Luis Negron, I wish they were all translated (they are currently only available in Spanish). Like I don’t have a huge to-read pile as it is. My edit Algonquin Books offered to send me books yesterday and I had to thank her and ask her to hold off for now, otherwise I will never catch up. But what happened at the end, between Negron and his father and mother. I don’t want to say anything, you should just read this essay.

As it happens I recently started a book by another Algonquin author and I am just loving it. Heading out to Wonderful by Robert Goolrick. “Let me tell you something, son. 
When you’re young, and you head out to wonderful, everything is fresh and bright as a brand-new penny, 
but before you get to wonderful you’re going to have to pass through all right. And when you get to all right, stop and take a good, long look, because that may be as far as you’re ever going to go.” A discouraging thought perhaps, but for some reason that sentiment, and this book, are cheering me up. It’s set in 1948 Virginia, and for whatever reason, Goolrick’s 1948 Virginia is where I want to be for now.

A window on my way to … where was I going? Oh! Economy Candy.