| Jan. 14th, 2007 @ 11:03 pm Miss Mann and Monsignor |
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Into the third week of coop now. Still trying to find a balance of things. Waking, driving, sleeping, sleeping again, working, eating, working, reading, driving, eating, surfing, skyping, sleeping.
Today was special b/c of the rare opportunity Sarah has to getting me to step into a church. Steve invited me and Sarah to join him, Aida and Dev to go. A subway ride after found Sarah at the back of a rather crowded 12pm service. A few familiar faces.
The music was impeccable; i dare say it was better than when we were there. The young boys' polyphony sang with confidence, in which all SATB parts were on the ball. The only mess-up was the colossal breakdown for the budding alto whose voice cracked from his second, third note, and then couldnt go on... Chichi backed up for him, but i didnt find chichi to his usual form.
After mass, we ran into Milo. nice seeing him there. outta every1 i expect to see him there. He told me that he was sitting right next to monsignor and miss mann in the front row. He had to run to eaton center, so steve n i were out looking for those famous two. Steve remarked of two white-haired ppls in the front. Since the last version of miss mann had black hair, I didnt quite expect to recognize a white version of miss mann. She CERTAINLY didnt recognize me! She asked me what grade i was in... I told them that i graduated 5 years ago (actually 4), and monsignor had to repeat what i was saying to miss mann. I dun think even monsignor knows who i am. Miss Mann was asking my name, monsignor quick to pronounce it his normal way "Hue-y". In that way, i was happy that monsignor's lucidity was intact (and not forever shattered by his head surgery a few years back). He was holding on to a cane, so the wheelchair in front of them must have been for miss mann... when i went over to shake hands, i still dunno what went on, but miss mann could only hold my hand and not actually shake hands...
Just finished reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. One of those books that leave me pensive, but thankful that ive read it. Miss Mann reminds me of Ursula, the matriarch of the family line. Always in the house. Trying to be useful for as long as she could. Feigning weaknesses, using other senses for compensation. She was, in my childhood imagination, indomitable. Now in her white-haired old age, i feel happy for her that monsignor is still around (actually probably 20 years her junior) and she's surrounded by loving ppls. Inspite of them not remembering me, i hope to see them soon, maybe at the next gibson. |
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