November 20 - 21: Height and Depth

The reason for the title of this entry is the fact that I experienced two consecutive and yet radically-different days on - you guessed it - November 20th and 21st.
The first of these was a "down" sort of day. Having missed Friday for the all-county concert this weekend, I was immensely stressed out about getting caught up on all my homework, not to mention the future prospect of getting caught up on all the homework that I'll be missing next week while visiting my great-grandma in Florida - it also occured to me, on the way home from church, that I would be out of town on the day on which I initially signed up for the SAT, December 3rd. So, I went on the website and did all that I could to change my testing date, though it still has not registered the change. I have made a mental note to give them a call tomorrow. In any case, apart from that, one of my favorite pastors had his last Sunday on the pulpit on that day also. The choir sang "The Old Hundredth Psalm Tune" and "He is God," neither of which are favorites of mine. However, the service was immensely powerful - never have I heard that much spiritual guidance packed into one sermon. For part of the prelude, Dr. Dodds went up to one of the balconies and played his violin - it sounded like water and silk, that is how smooth it was. Then, all of the other pastors came to help assist, and midway through the service, after our thanks for the offering, Mike Horne stood with Harry Daniel (the interrim pastor who had to leave) at center stage and spoke of how he has been a blessing on our church as a teacher and a friend. After that, there was a long moment of applause, the longest I've ever heard in the church, even counting the time that the choir sang the "Hallelujah" chorus. I cried a little then.
After the service, most everyone congregated in the fellowship hall to attend the farewell reception for Mr. and Mrs. Daniel. I spoke to him briefly and gave him a packet of sacred poetry that I had written, and then I sat down and wept a little more. For some reason, the sight of him walking around and clutching the bright purple folder cheered me up a bit, and so I got some pink lemonade and socialized with people. Jenny and I had a nice Harry Potter conversation for a while, and then I had to go.
Later that night, I was playing the piano while Hope was in the shower; I decided that it was high time to refresh those Beethoven pieces that I must play monthly to remember: The second movement of the "Pathetique" and the first movement of the "Moonlight." Moreover, I decided to practice them as I would perform them, instead of running through them really fast just to make sure I remember the notes, as I usually do. I was about halfway through the "Pathetique" when I remembered being a kid and sitting on the carpeted stairs and listening to my father play the same piece - and then I wondered if Beethoven had been remembering something from his childhood when he wrote the piece, because it sure captured that feeling well - that mixture of happiness and sadness all rolled into nostalgia. Already being on a roll that day, I wept again, thereby impairing my vision.
November 21st was another thing entirely. I woke up early with the intention of finishing a lab before school started. I caught a ride with Emily, who had a super-early a-cappella gig over at Reynolds that she had to go to anyway. While I waited for her outside, I listened to the Trio section from Beethoven's "Christ on the Mount of Olives" oratorio. There's one note in it that is like Paradise - the whole thing is pretty and worth listening to, I assure you, but that one part makes the whole piece what it is. This song played itself over and over in my head for the rest of the day, as well as the "Agnus Dei" from Beethoven's "Missa Solemnis." It was one of those rare times when having something stuck in your head isn't necessarily a bad thing.
I also found everything excessively amusing yesterday. For example, I was in history class, and Mr. French was discussing John Brown's radical activities prior to the Civil War, specifically the Powatahomie Massacre (or something like that) - in any case, one of the students accused him of mispronouncing it (I personally wouldn't have known one way or the other) and with great jubilance, he exclaimed, "Whoops! I put the wrong emPHAsis on the wrong sylLAbles!" and then laughed somewhat maniacally. At the time, I thought that this was uproariously hilarious for some reason, but then found that either it wasn't, or it was one of those "you-had-to-be-there" things later on when I tried to explain it to my mom.
Just after school, I stayed about 45 minutes or so for a piano lesson. This was a very productive period in which I learned a new fingering for a section of the 6 Beethoven "Ecossaises" in E flat that I had been playing awkwardly before. I also learned a new "blonde joke" and had the opportunity to tell my "bottom of the ninth" joke - the retelling of this joke always makes me happy.
So in any case, I left school in high spirits, which endured through a dinner at Pancho Villas with my mom, Wesley, and Kooky. Wesley has just finished the duet song for his album, "There's No Time for Romance," which my mom turned into the joke of the night by insisting that there wasn't enough time for just about everything. So, then I came home, procrastinated on homework, finally did homework, and went to sleep. That is what has happened the past two days.