etc. ad infinitum…

After a brief detour into the forties (or 7°C), the twenties (-4°C) and the ice are back, and have brought with them the deep, clinging fog, the thickness of which makes it almost impossible to see across the street. It is RIDICULOUS out there, but that’s just another typical winter day in Glasgow. Meanwhile, we strive to entertain ourselves, now that for us, at least the worst has passed. We are back to eight hours of “daylight.” It seems that we are sensitive to darkness in that we are sluggish when it dips below that amount… but now, we’re a bit more alert. And it’s a good thing.

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We keep a running list of Scots words… well, really, they’re English words, and they’re “bad” words (because isn’t that what most people learn first when they’re in another country?) – or at least questionable words. These are mainly usage words which we stumble across in our conversations with the natives. Since our friend Mary’s interaction with it, we’ve been listening for the contemptuous phrase, “what are you like?” and we’ve heard “what are they like,” which made us happy, since the scorn wasn’t directed toward us! We also now know, for example, that when you call someone a “wee nyaff,” you are referring to them as that most hated of insects — a midge (or “midgie,” as they’re called here – apparently a midge is a garbage man in some parts) or a mosquito. So, a wee nyaff — knee-aff — is a pernicious pest. We also are a bit shocked — and amused, really — to learn that a “muppet” is not an innocent creature of Jim Henson wizardry. Och, nae — it’s a useless, stupid person who can’t seem to manage without the hand of another, er… making all of its movements…! That puts Miss Piggy in a whole new light, doesn’t it?

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We dragged ourselves back to chorus last week to begin rehearsal for our last two concerts of the year. We began with Rossini’s Petite Messe Solennelle — which always sounds to us like a “little mess,” and, frankly, it is right now. (But, the title really means a little solemn mass.) It’s only a little messy, though, and we’re surprised at how good we sound. It’s challenging, but it has fugues, which make musical sense, and are not as hard as they sound, once you learn them and get up to speed. As the concert is in March, we’ll have to fast-forward our learning; the ranks are rather thin right now, as many people are still in the grip of the five-day-‘flu going around. (It has managed to miss T. entirely, which makes her nervous — she’s not sure why she’s so blessed!) However, since there are seven — SEVEN — soloists in the piece, there’s actually not that much for the chorus to do.

Meanwhile we are wading through sight-reading Vaughn Williams’ Toward the Unknown Region, which is a fun one for the Americans, as it’s the words of a Walt Whitman poem (yay!) set to some really …unique 20’s era music. (Vaughn Williams is an acquired taste for many; “modern” music from the 1920’s tends to be full of clashing notes.) We’ll begin learning Belshazzar’s Feast, another “modern” piece, written in 1931, for our final official concert of the year. “Unofficial” concerts continue throughout the summer months, with short programs of “choral classics.”

The idea of choral classics is always a funny thing for us, as the songs which “everybody knows” and are classics to our Scottish friends are usually something we have to sight read and learn as fast as we can. (Can YOU belt out Verdi’s Va Pensiero practically from memory? How about Hubert Parry’s I Was Glad? THEY can. It’s kind of annoying.) Which begs the question, what’s an American choral “classic?” What are the songs that “everybody knows?” (Other than patriotic songs and Old MacDonald… which we’ve been informed is technically Scottish…) It’s such a big country, we can hardly say that there ARE songs “everybody” knows in all fifty states… which is yet another difference between the UK and the U.S.. Our choral “classics” must be more regional…?

Days of bone-deep cold, when the fog doesn’t lift, mean that we’re not too keen to go out. D’s finally finishing a bout of “the dreaded lurgi,” as the ‘flu is called here, and the cold air just aggravates his coughing. Usually times like these mean it’s time for hot baths, and languishing in the suds.

Well, it WOULD mean that. But, Glasgow has a wee problem with insulation — since our waste pipe froze and forced water back into all the flats, it’s obvious that the pipes aren’t insulated to counteract the cold. What does this mean? Tepid showers. Baths where one has to run the kettle and fill the largest (non-canning) pot a few times to “help” fill the tub. Very short prep time in the morning, as one does the basics of washing within a four or five minute period, and leaps forth from the shower with a quickness. We shake our heads at the whole thing, but then we ARE saving water, we suppose… it’s very green to take three minute showers. Right?? RIGHT???

To comfort ourselves at the lack of hot baths (at home, at least; the pool has insulated everything, so their showers can boil the skin from the body) we took time to resurrect the lovely Bad SciFi Night movie marathon, but this time we added our own twist. It was Bad Disney Flicks — and we had a good time making fun of movies that were filmed in Glorious Technicolor years before we were born, and have their own five flavors of bad. While we do love our Hayley Mills, OY, is That Darn Cat an awful, horrific and tiresome movie. Can’t reason why, but it is somehow cathartic to groan and roll one’s eyes at the stupid characters. (This explains the success of many, many movies…) Somehow, The Snowball Express has held up through seeing it at years of church socials and Family Fun Nights, and of course The Parent Trap – the Lohan-free original – remains forever as a favorite. (We’re withholding judgment on Moonspinners until next weekend when we finish it. Maybe now we’ll move onto Bad Westerns, and break out the John Wayne… Or not.)