You Don't Have to Go It Alone

Choir practice today...
we've finally learned the songs after four months, so Non Nobis no longer sounds like cats drowning and the Mass is gorgeous. I have no idea how Mrs. Fed manages to coax the choir into it beauty every semester considering how horrific it always sounds at the beginning. The solo sections to Mozart's Gloria sound pretty dang cool, (woohoo!) and I particularly love the soloists parts in the Kyrie. Wow, I'm so impressed with us...

Mrs. Fed. Quotes of the Day:
On the tenors coming in late: "It is a Ukrainian saying when people arrive late, 'Taking mustard after dinner.'"
On the altos dying with a whimper during Sicut Cervus: "It's like knitting a sweater, you can't stop half-way through!"

She is utterly bewitching. I want to be her when I grow up.

I received a gorgeous bunch of sunflowers and...spiky blue flowers (?) from Sean today. Each girl who came in and saw them was really quite impressed with the gift during the sick stress of Ave finals. (So, major kudos to you from all of Gabriel Hall) I woke up so exhusted and stressed and worried this morning but seeing the flowers on my kitchen table changed everything.

In other news, I almost broke my thumb yesterday. Further developments in my premature aging due to the excesses of college life includes really creaky joints (due to a severe lack of physical exersion and falling asleep curled up in a fetal position in a chair for two nights in a row). While cracking my knuckles my right thumb popped completely out of joint (and hurt like hell!) I just shook it off, but it's rather swollen today. Angie's response to that was "only you." Yes, I nearly break appendages while having grave discussions....hmmm.

And so, to conclude this slightly disconnected recount of recent days:
"...the decision that comes from Christ is...yes to love, for it alone, precisely with the risk of suffering and the risk of losing oneself, brings man to himself and makes him what he should be." --Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Salt of the Earth