Soaking up the winter sun

Sometimes it can be the simplest of things. Today, amongst other things, it was sitting soaking up the sunshine at one of the outside tables of the Waterside Cafe in Anstruther. Two hours of scribbling on my notepad and drinking coffee while Alex was finishing off a wee job at one of our sites in the lovely little East coast seaside town. It really was a brilliant way to spend a Sunday morning; writing and sunbathing, in Scotland, in November. Perfect.

Alex being creative...

...while I try to be creative...

Appreciating having a voice at all

A six day stretch of having redundant vocal chords has given me an opportunity to experience some small sense of what it might be like for people who can't make a sound any time. Not just for a few days, but never at all.

I'm finding it so very frustrating not being able to open my mouth and simply say what I want to say. I can write notes, or make hand signals, or mouth out the words silently (I've been advised by the doctor not even to whisper), but I'm missing the added emphasis that such things as tone and variation in volume and expression can provide. Writing a note or making hand signals just isn't having the same impact that a shout, or a whisper, or a sarcastic tone, or a change in pitch would. 

I have, of course, found ways of adapting. If I'm angry I can WRITE THE WORDS ON MY NOTE IN BLOCK CAPITALS or I can accompany my hand signals with wide eyes and wide mouthing. If I'm sad I can scribble my note slowly, as if each word was hitting my heart instead of the page. (Crying actually really hurts my throat, so I'm wondering if the emotional turmoil - that I expected to accompany the youngest of my kids moving in to his own place at the beginning of the week - hasn't really surfaced because my body has stood up to my emotions and put a kind of throat-defense-mechanism into action!) If I'm happy I can smile and if I'm irritated I can throw my eyes up in the air. Alex and I have also been deploying a wide variety of hand signals, especially when I'm at my most exasperated...

I'll soon (hopefully) be walking back through the doorway into a more familiar world of being able to verbally chat, shout, whisper, laugh, sob and sing, and I consider myself so very fortunate that my need for adaptation to silent communication is short-lived. Not so for the many people who, for a variety of reasons, find it difficult - or indeed impossible - to speak at all.

Our voices, and what we have to say (or sing!), might not be to everyone's liking. And sometimes I guess that that very thought can put us off using our voices. But how lucky we are to have voices at all.

I remember the first time I posted a video clip on this wee blog of me singing a solo with the choir; I went through a whole 'Will I Won't I?' thing for ages as if I was making some kind of brave and momentous decision or another! When it came down to it, the thing I feared most was the idea that folk might think I was rubbish, or might think I was showing off by publishing the clip. And I still feel a bit like that. (...Why is it that most of us feel like that about singing in public? Singing makes us feel so good, why is it something that we get so shy about? Or worry so much about what other folk think?...) But, with a hugely grateful nod to the fact that I do have a voice to sing with - no matter what it sounds like - I'm feeling good about posting the following clips today. Yup, I'm holding my head high and not letting any of that silly internal argument get in the way! Whether you like the sound of my voice or not (and there are loads of brilliant voices in the choir to listen to if you don't like my wee bits) I'm just feeling good that I (usually) do have a voice at all that can make some sounds that I can choose to share:

Songs in my silence

I've been loaded with the cold for the past four days - stuffed nose, sore head, sore ear, sore throat and so sick of not being able to speak! I've not been able to make a sound. Not a peep. Nada. Aw man, it's so frustrating. I wish I could say that I've made the most of being cooped up at home by producing some profound piece of writing or another, or by reading some fantastic book or another, or by doing some other sort of worthwhile thing or another. Instead, I've spent most of the past few days curled up on the couch snoozing or watching rubbishy day time telly, or snoozing while rubbishy day time telly drones on in the background. I reckon that the bit of my brain that motivates me to buckle down and get on with something worthwhile is all bunged up along with everything else. That's my excuse anyway.

Actually, now that I think about it, I have done one useful thing today; I've reduced the percentage on our Sky planner. Now I know that that sounds ridiculous, in the whole scheme of things, but I just have this thing about the planner being nearly full and I get a real kick out of hitting the yellow button! Am I the only one? (Sometimes it really is the simplest of things...) And, as if that wasn't thrilling enough, the programme I watched reduced the planner by a whole three percent! (It's so deflating when you hit the yellow button and there's a drop of only one percent...)

And, just to add to this feel-good thing, the programme I watched was a great one! It was last night's 'Imagine', telling the story of the Jewish influence on Broadway Musicals. I had no idea that the melodies from so many of my favourite songs from musicals were derived from Jewish prayers. The programme showed loads of great clips, some really interesting interviews and a load of fantastic songs. Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Gershwin, Rogers, Hammerstein, Sondheim...the list went on. I managed to stay awake all the way through it - Hooray - and, even though it was torture not being able to sing along, it provided a lovely wee bit of sunshine on a day that the rain was definitely falling on my parade:

Joining in

Of all the days to wake up with a cold and sore throat, it had to be the day of my last Heart of Scotland choir concert! However, with the help of lots of hot water, honey, lemon, strepsils, vicks, paracetamol, vocalzones, sudafed, handkies and much-appreciated encouragement from my choir buddies I managed to join in, force some sound out of my mouth and thoroughly enjoy the whole Bertie experience! Just as I predicted in my last post, it was a poignant night for many of us (for many different reasons) but it was also a night full of fun, laughter and - of course - fantastic music and singing! I left the Albert Halls last night with a wee tear and a big smile, and I'm left today with a big bunch of happy Heart of Scotland memories to add to my collection.

Today I'm also left with almost no voice. And it's so frustrating! I like to chat at the best of times, but today it's especially important to me that I can join in the conversation! Gemma's at home (after travelling up from London for a wonderful surprise visit), Gordon's spending his last day at home before moving into his new flat tomorrow, and we have a family Skype session lined up with Ross, who's over in the States, later on this afternoon. I definitely need to find my voice again! There's no way I'm missing out on the Milne crew chit chat!

This is Remembrance Sunday, so it's important that the day includes moments of silence. But it's also a day for me to make the very most of having my wee family round about me, whether they're here in the flesh or looking out at me from a computer screen! So, it's back to the honey, lemon, strepsils, vicks, paracetamol, vocalzones, sudafed and any other such lotion or potion I can lay my hands on that'll help me find my voice again! Because simply sitting at home on a Sunday, joining in with the chit chat with my family, is what's going to make me feel really good today.

The Choir

Anyone who reads this wee blog regularly will know that I don't just wear my heart on my sleeve; I broadcast it loudly and pin it up in neon lights. It's not a new thing: poor Alex's thunder was stolen on our wedding day, 25 years ago, when I interrupted him at the end of his speech by standing up and giving an impromptu emotional spiel about how lucky I felt, how much I loved my groom and how grateful I was for everything my mum and dad had done for me and for having me in the first place! Our kids will have also all have many a tale to tell of times when their auld maw's mouth has gone into overdrive! Sometimes I just can't help it, especially when I'm feeling particularly emotional.

Last night was a case in point. If you look at the 'labels' on my wee blog you'll see that 'Heart of Scotland Choir' looms large on the list, which is testament to how often I've written about how good being a member of the choir makes me feel. So, it was with a fairly heavy heart that I headed off last night to my last choir rehearsal, not just the last rehearsal before our next concert, but my last rehearsal. Our lovely choir mum, Ray, eloquently said recently that the choir has an 'ebb and a flow' (a bit like life really), with the heart of it rolling on strong while people come and go. And now it's just my time, for various reasons, to have to go. I always feel sad when any of my friends leave the choir, so it was fairly predictable that I'd be feeling a bit emotional during my own last rehearsal. Having said that though, I absolutely loved it! It was the last rehearsal before our annual concert in the Albert Halls (in Stirling) and the 'Bertie Buzz' was very much in evidence! Rehearsing with the band is always brilliant, but last night there just seemed to be a different level of 'Bertie Buzz-iness' than usual. I had an absolute blast and, even though I was a bit weepy at times, my heart was well and truly lifted. I'm really looking forward to the concert and it'll be a night when the loss of choir members through choice, or through other things in their life taking priority, or for a multitude of other reasons will all be put into perspective when we sing our hearts out in memory of Laurie, our choir dad who left us earlier this year through absolutely no choice of his own. I'm obviously biased, but it promises to be a great night - and it would be great to see you there! Tickets are on sale from 'The Albert Halls' in Stirling online! (Might as well get one last plug in...!)

At the end of the rehearsal Annie emotionally announced to the choir that the rehearsal had been the last for three of us: me, Greig (the man in the hat with the golden voice of Boo's Band fame) and Mair (flautist and singer extraordinnaire, who was one of the favourites with Day Care patients at the hospice). Listening to Annie as she thanked us and told us how much we'd be missed made me cry some more and then (I can actually see my kids cringing as they read this...) ocht, I did that thing of standing up and saying how much the choir had meant to me and how much I'd miss everyone and how grateful I was for everything and I said I was sure Greig and Mair felt the same... it wasn't enough to say how I felt, I even pulled Mair and Greig into it too!

So, to Annie, I'm sorry for butting in on you! I have form...! And, to my choir family, I'm sorry for holding you back at the end of a long rehearsal! But, I'm not sorry for telling you all that I'll miss you, and that I'm so very grateful for every single memory and 'feel-good' moment you've given me during these past few years (present and previous members included!). Thank you all - and see you at the Bertie on Saturday!!