My cross-eyed bear*

I know that I have several crosses to bear, but the one that drives me the most nuts is not QB (surprise), it is Organgrinder. QB gets the most time of my life, and therefore the most interest, but Organgrinder packs the punches in the small time she is allotted. I've never written of her exploits, but they are pervasive in my life and strewn throughout the last several years. Here is the history and most recent Organgrinder story to perk up your Monday. (Perk = it didn't happen to you.)

Organgrinder is a newly-turned 86-year-old church musician who has been playing in my particular church since around the time Christ was born (she doesn't need to sing the Christmas cantata--she was evicted from the barn so that the manger could be taken through the first-ever recorded case of eminent domain).

Throughout her time on this earth, she has taken a cumulative total of approximately 1.743 years of music lessons. As in on any instrument--not organgrinder lessons. Which means that in her whole life, she has had lessons for approximately 90 days. (Assuming the normal one lesson per week teaching method)...which means that for one day for each year of her life, she has spent a little time learning about how to be a better musician. I hate to be a snob, but Christ on a crutch! That's a pretty low bar to clear.

I know that she knows she's inept, just unable to vocalize the sentiment. Every time that Herr Preacher publicly thanks the musicians during service, Capellmeister and I nod thoughtfully and park ourselves back on the pew/piano bench. Organgrinder, however, springs from her bench (as much as a fake hip allows), makes her way to the microphone to give her thanks and acceptance speech. The speech never fails to please. It always begins with, "Well, I know I'm not as good a musician as Clarinazi, but..." and it always encompasses her ~2 years of music lessons (as if that's an accomplishment?!?) and her gratitude for being allowed to be the half-cent organgrinder for the blessed congregants.

Organgrinder's instrument is (forcibly) made to sound like something that would *grace* a funeral parlor. Sometimes it is even more audible, and those times are practically cringe-worthy since the music is (still) unidentifiable due to the music lesson crisis noted above. After services, several congregants have approached me, and asked in a stage whisper, "Clarinazi, do you know what the offertory was?" Uh, yeah? It was the sound of two blue whales humping?

Organgrinder finds our praise band rather contentious. Anything the praise band does, whether good or bad, earns the next-to-highest shrieking on record. Of particular shriekyness is my mere existence. It seems that the bulk of her wrath is aimed toward yours truly, and when I play with the praise band, watch out world. Last weekend she didn't even wait for the congregation to absent itself before throwing her purse at the youth minister (the singer du jour) and shrieking like a banshee about how the guitars were too loud, punctuating her outburst with staccato heel clicks as she limped ass in retreat. Um, excuse me, but it was a ROCK tune...and all that implies. I'm not a normal fan of loud obnoxious music, and I liked this since it was well-blended, etc. Even if you don't like it, which is your right, you do NOT have a right to castigate other staff publicly (or anyone else, for that matter).

So, needless to say, Organgrinder and I are not bosom buddies. She's generally nice to me as long as we are not in the sanctuary, but even this nicety takes me aback. This said, let us talk about yesterday.

Cappellmeister and I (along with the rest of the worship committee--that includes Organgrinder, though she NEVER attends) decided to once again attempt to get the congregants to sing during Communion. Not a lot to ask, and we figured if we did only the first verses to songs they know, we'd get a good response. To fill the rest of the time, I'd do an improv/half-scored bit on whatever the song of the moment happened to be. Herr Preacher had nicely put a copy of the first hymn changes and the lead sheet (sans chords) for the Communion music on the organ, with a note that if Organgrinder wished to have the score for the Communion music, it was on the piano with her name on it. She did not take the bait, and after services concluded yesterday, went apeshit on Cappellmeister for the oversight. (Um, excuse me, but what does the Cap have to do with you being inept?!?) Capellmeister told her that if she had a problem with the instrumental stuff to talk to me since that was my domain (go Cap!), but by the time I had finished jamming on the sending forth song, Organgrinder was nowhere to be found. Excellent.

Is it just me or if you look at the bulletin on Saturday (when she practices) and notice that things are not as expected, wouldn't you CALL SOMEONE TO ASK ABOUT IT?!? But alas, she just chastises us in public and pays a visit upon Herr Preacher come Monday. Next time that crazy broad says anything to me in a raised voice with anyone else around, shit will fly. I warned Herr Preacher the last time something like this happened (a couple months ago, she hit me in the chest with a book she chunked at me since I didn't tell her that the bells were playing for the pre-offertory or some such...I drew a line in the sand with Herr Preacher followed by "her or me.")

Damn. Now I'm all riled up and don't have anywhere to go to punch someone. I'm fairly certain that if I'd take myself belowstairs, QB wouldn't appreciate it.




*a veiled reference to Alanis Morisette...'and the "cross-eyed bear" you gave to me'...