They have a thing in these parts called Honors Choir. They pick 6-8 choir members each from about 8 high schools and get them together for one day under a guest director, ending with a concert in the evening. The Girl was chosen as one of two sopranos from her school.
I was at home, deep in discussion with the Boy, with me warning about the black helipcopters of Warcraft spyware, while he pondered the effect of two black holes colliding, and theorized that Steven Hawking's physical disability is actually an advantage because he only has to concentrate on thinking. Alas, the conversation had to be abandoned so I could make the concert.
The host school was the southernmost of those participating, a drive of about an hour. Lo and behold, after I took my seat in the auditorium, I realize my neighbor is two rows in front of me, and his neighbor is right across the aisle. We could have car pooled! Our house is midway between three small towns, leading to the oddity that we all have daughters who are Juniors or Seniors in high school, and they go to three different schools. All three girls were chosen to participate in Honors Choir for their school. How weird is that? We must grow good singers on this stretch of road, (hence the title of this post.)
The concert was a rousing success, filled with baby Jesus', Glorious in Excelsious, and Hallelujah's bouncing off the walls all over the place, and no ACLU spoilsports in sight. We country folk are subversive in that way.
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