Yesterday, (a recurring theme) I planned my day around my designated accompanist gig for a funeral at my church. I was properly attired, primped, and early for rehearsal. I arrived.
First, I had a lovely, spirit-lifting conversation with the “Director of Music and Liturgy” right as I entered the church. He was dressed in a suit, which should have been my first clue. He asked me if I knew the deceased, which I did not. He then proceeded to give me a lovely compliment regarding Christmas, as I looked over my shoulder at the video screen showing “Doris” and her life. I turned to my director and asked, mid-compliment, “Who’s funeral is this?”
Obviously, I was one week early, wrong funeral, wrong date. We both burst out in laughter, totally inappropriate for the deceased’s welcome party, and yet, I figured, “Doris,” was that kind of person. I didn’t know her, but I think it was fitting.
The only loss was my taking time to curl my hair and wear something other than causal gear. Not much of a loss compared to the lovely life for which I did not get to musically accompany.