Singing Solo
Part Two
We left Calgary on a bright sunny day heading north on the BJ Highway along some spectacular stretches of glistening snow capped mountains and gravelly rivers flattening broad expanses of valley. I lowered the car window, inhaling deeply the cold blast of air and sighed. Was there anywhere else I’d rather be? My sister tssked. I raised the window, thinking of Julie Andrews bursting with song. The hills are alive!
Poor sis, hungover and grumpy, was having none of this cheer. She needed that vacation, which went well enough, some minor snits, after ten years living apart. Our Jasper friends showed us a good time, plenty of fishing and hiking, plus a box of frozen fresh caught trout to take back along the same gloriously sunny route. What more could we ask for?
Endless song snatches tripped off my tongue as I sang badly. That’s when she wrenched out, “You should sing solo; so low, no one can hear.”
In the silence that followed, I reflected on happier times hiking in Jasper with buddies who sang as we walked to keep our energy up and to keep the bears away. Once climbing above the treeline, in the alpine meadows, we rested on rocks in the shrinking stream bed, exhausted from our climb and intoxicated with the sweet scent of a multitude of exotic flowers and buzzing bees, gathering ourselves for the long descent. One friend didn’t know many songs in English and we didn’t know any in his language. He began singing in a deep rich voice a song we recognized as I like to go a-wandering so joined in, in English. We staggered on singing, then he began the Gregorian Chant in latin, which, I, being Catholic, lead the others in the responses, laughing and waving to other hikers as we tried to find other hymns or songs in common. What a commotion we made!
I mistook some hotel guests at a small BBQ function where Herman was the chef and I was hostess. Our music entertainment did not show up, so after dinner, I attempted to repeat the singalong experience with the 30 guests. Silence. Herman watched then accompanied me in a song or two, resulting in further silence. I remember my red face and chagrin. Where’s the fun?
Sometimes I sang solo, at home, reading the lyrics and listening to the music of Cats, The Phantom of the Opera, and Les Miserables. I preferred a musical liturgy at church where I could practice and sing with gusto if I felt like it. I usually felt well churched or at least, aerated after an hour or so singing. I still love to sing solo, as long as no one is around who might be sensitive to wrong notes. There are a few I discovered.