As near as I can figure, I’ve been to 16 school Holiday concerts. We are in the killer years for Holiday concerts. For two years, our three daughters are in 3 different schools. This means that each year we must attend three concerts. This means that I have 10 to go. 10 more and then I don’t have to go to any ever again. I figured this out last night at Megan’s school concert, prompted by the lady next to us who was at her very first school concert. You could tell. She was accessorized and excited. She had her whole extended family with her and she had a digital camera, a film camera and her husband had the camcorder. Her family was similarly equipped. (When her kid finally came out there was so many flashing lights near us it was like hearing sweet five year old voices sing “What a wonderful world” in a Disco. Joe said he thought he was having a stroke.) The other give away that she was new to the school holiday concert circuit was that she thought she would be out of there in under an hour.
Joe scanned the program and called it. 90 minutes. He was wrong. It was 105, I knit almost half a sock. (Note: due to a bit of a yarn shortage, these two socks will be fraternal, rather than identical socks. I’m having a little emotional trouble with that, but trying to lighten up.)
School concerts can be brutal or they can be wonderful. Usually, there about 95 minutes of brutal, interspersed with the 5 minutes that your kid performs and about 5 minutes where magic happens. (Sometimes these two things happen at the same time, sometimes not. It’s a crap shoot.) You know that thing where you are in a crowd, and something happens to sweep up everyone into a collective expression of joy? It’s rare and spectacular.
Like, maybe you are at your kids holiday concert, and the Celtic club comes out (The Celtic club at Meg’s school cracks me up. It’s about 15 kids, all playing Celtic folk tunes on tin whistles, accompanied by fiddles. Out of the 15 kids I’d say that 3 of them have any sort of Celtic background. The rest of them are from really Celtic places like Sri Lanka, Jamaica, and Pakistan. It’s Toronto’s brilliant multiculturalism at it’s finest, it does my heart good.) So the Celtic Club might come out, and they play “The Lilting Banshee” and pretty soon someone is tapping their feet. The tapping becomes a stomping, and the room begins to fill with the noise of the rhythm of The Lilting Banshee, and people are clapping and stomping and everyone’s faces glow while we are all pulled together as a community, however briefly….and everyone forgets that they live in a big anonymous city and it feels more like a kitchen party with the fiddlers and just for a few moments you know that you all feel the same thing and that it’s all going to be ok, because really, humanity has the same goals.
You know that feeling?
Last night? Last night was the EXACT OPPOSITE of that feeling.
Don’t get me wrong. It had its moments. The 10 year old who was dressed as a tree with garlands of leaves strung around him? When he got to the part where he was supposed to drop his leaves (it was autumn) and he just about strangled himself with the leaves in an attempt to not miss his cue? I loved that kid.
When Meg’s choir sang “Imagine” and “Happy Together”? Pretty good too. I’m just saying…. 10 more to go. (Note: if you were there last night? Your kid was good as well. )
When I got home I returned to my beloved latvian mitten….
It’s getting there. It is here displayed against the very stripey goodness of the other mittens palm.
I’m delaying putting the tree up because the odds that I’m going to be able to continue to ignore the fact that Christmas is in 15 days will be nearly impossible with a 10 foot tree taking up most of the living room. I might be starting to freak out a little.
Gifts for knitters: Days 7,8,9 and 10 (I fell a little behind there)
Extremely cool personalized woven labels.
Note cards with pictures of yarn on it. If your knitter has to be writing instead of knitting at least put a picture of yarn on it.
Rings with knitting on them, miraculously accomplished without it being lame or dorky. I’d totally wear the cable one. A good gift for the male knitter. (I think. Can’t be too sure. I’m not promising.)