…is King's Hawaiian bread in the one-pound round tin. I love it because it's sweet, but for me, it's a holy experience. For several years in our church it stood in for Jesus' body in Communion, so now I always associate it with worship. Not entirely a bad thing, but when I eat it in other places, I really crave grape juice.
This may be one of the two negative things about this coming Sunday being my last at my church. Yes, I finally threw in the towel. It was sweaty and bloody and slightly streaked with dirt, but its tattered strands have come to rest at last. The choir director and I are leaving on the same day. Organgrinder will have to get along without us.
For the first time since middle school, I have free Sundays. I don't have to get up before the sun. I don't have to spend week nights cranking out music for worship. No more hasty arrangements because my orchestra that was normal last week is now a flute, a trombone, and six French horns. No more waking up at 3 a.m. on the day before Easter wondering what the introit music will be for tomorrow's ENORMOUS service and how I'm going to get from A-flat (jazz) to C (Christ the Lord Has Risen Today)…
Burned out? Check.
Frustrated? Check.
Ready to scream at and unceremonially choke the life from the SPR Committee? Check.
All seems to be in order.
Hasta la bye-bye, Organgrider!
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