Kivrin

- Giant, stupid work project of rage is complete. I may be a slightly less tedious conversationalist now. Maybe.

- I have repaid my karmic debt to Greyhoundliz for her heroic scrubbing of the Lush Youki-hi bath bomb stains out of my tub the last time I moved. To wit: I scrubbed her stovetop, her sink, and two freezers.

- I should not gain any merit from taking Science Soprano's cantoring responsibilities for Sunday, since I will enjoy getting to cantor for R the choir director one last time before she buggers off for her fabulous new job in FRANCE.

- Though maybe I should, since I am also up next week, and will have to be the first to work with Interim!ChoirGuy and Interim!Organist.

- Though Wednesday is my late morning, today I got up at more or less the regular time and... well, mostly read and drank tea, but I did also do a load of laundry and create a tiny bit more order in the apartment.

- I'm on a London-Blitz-and-postwar kick, it seems - I've been grazing in David Kynaston's monumental Austerity Britain, as well as reading Connie Willis' All Clear and Sarah Waters' The Night Watch. Recommendations gratefully accepted.

 I quite seriously felt like going to the Bishop after the service and saying “can we do it again?” Of course we couldn't really; the sun was up, and our candles burnt down, and the clergy near exhausted. But it was that kind of wonderful, even though there was near war in the choir at the Gospel Acclamation (sing with the deacon! No, echo her! No, sing with her!), and the Bishop totally skipped the verses of the song for blessing the oil, and we had an enormous traffic jam at communion. Those are the sorts of problems that crop up because we're not robots, because the church is people, as it should be.