As a newcomer to country living, I thought I should join in some community activities.
Last week I went along to “Windsong” a community choir that meets weekly in Wingham, a little town about 30 minutes from us.
Can I sing? Sort of. If my life depended on it.
I didn’t have an entirely happy experience last week. I had to concentrate so hard on looking at the sheet music for following the alto harmony that I’m not sure what I sounded like. I tethered myself like a string on a kite to Johanna, a woman around my age, who I was convinced could take my voice where it needed to go. After all, she said she was classically trained and was even going to sing Handel at the Opera House in a big choir in June. She didn’t need to look at the music.
Another difficulty that night was I was standing for an hour and a half and my legs and  hips got plumb wore out. When I sit down I have to use a special high chair for this six week post-op period, and there were no suitable chairs at this venue. Finally, I had to leave just when everyone else was hotting up.
I noticed today that when I’ve been thinking about going to “Windsong” tonight, I wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Why? Because I don’t think I’m very good as a singer.
Then, I had a little think about all the yoga students I’ve had over the years in beginners’ classes who signed up just because they weren’t good at yoga and wanted to get better. That’s how it works. Just put the time in.
It’s not as if anyone is giving a scorecard at the end of a 10-week beginners’ yoga course or at the end of a community choir session.
I think I can….


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