Gray Day Kvetching

KvetchingAs I was pulling up to my office this morning, I looked to the northeast and noticed some pretty dark gray clouds that appeared to be filled with rain and moving in our direction.  Not but an hour later, it was raining again, but one of those really fine misty rains similar to what you’d see when going thru a car wash.  I certainly didn’t dress warm enough to dispel the damp chill that seemed to be everywhere all day.

After several more hours of desk work, I do believe I got myself caught up on everything that’s been hovering about on low priority.  It’s alway good to get completely caught up so one can move forward into new territories.  That’s one of the upsides of real estate sales where after a file is completely closed, the entire transaction is filed away and all that’s left are snapshot memories of people and places.  There was one transaction this year that’ll remain in my memory banks for years to come, as well as a reminder of how selfish and manipulating some can be.  It’s a good thing I managed to hold my tongue a few times during the endless conversations and emails with that person because I’m convinced more sooner or later, karma will come a knocking.

About three weeks ago, a ranking member of a church here in our City asked if I would play their pipe organ for a Sunday in June.  I agreed, but also informed her that I hadn’t played an organ for over a year.  Familiarizing oneself with any keyboard instrument does take some time because no matter what anyone tells you, none of them are the same–especially organs.

Instead of going out for a light lunch, I went over to her church and fired up the old gal.  After about five minutes of attempting to play it, I stopped, looked down, and whispered to myself, “Why did you agree to do this?”   I then raised my eyes back up to the music, looked at the keyboard, and then down to the pedal board and whispered again, “Stop whining and start practicing.”

My little pep talk must have fallen on a attentive “inner” ear because the more I practiced, the more comfortable I became.  Without paying any attention to how long I was at it, I looked at the clock, and realized I’d been there for well over an hour.  Just before calling it quits, I heard a voice from below.  I stopped, looked down, and there stood an older lady who must’ve walked in without notice.  She walked closer to the gallery rail and called up to me, “Very nice! I like what I’m hearing.”  I thanked her and then said, “Was it too loud?”  “Not at all.” she said. “It’s just right because most times those of us sitting up front can’t hear the music.”  It made me more comfortable knowing I had an unexpected member of their congregation arrive who found it acceptable.

Those kind words from that charming older lady was a counter-balance for all the gray day kvetching I had to listen to coming out of the mouths of our City’s general public.