Don’t fix it. Hahaha sorry I crack myself up.
OK here’s a glimpse into the circuitous thought process of Elizabeth. Last week while listening to Christmas music, I heard something on Pandora—I don’t recall what—that reminded me of Handel’s I Know That My Redeemer Liveth. And here begins my strange train of thought.
“Oh I loved singing that piece. I want to hear it again.”
So I tracked down a recording and listened.
“Man I used to have a voice.”
No the recording wasn’t me, duh, but hearing those notes brought back the sort of muscle memory of singing them.
“Oh yeah, I was really into baroque, my poor oboe teacher.”
I got a music scholarship for oboe at KU, even though I wasn’t a music major. That meant I had to perform in a certain number of ensembles each semester and also take lessons. Part of taking lessons meant playing for a jury at the end of the semester. Well right off the bat, I got fixated on baroque music. I played only baroque pieces in my juries for two and a half years. That's five juries of nothing but baroque. My poor teacher must have been so sick of that era after having had me as a student.
Finally in my sixth semester, and shortly before I injured my arm which ended my playing days, I told her I was up for something different. She literally gaped at me with surprise.
Hums the aria and then begins to sing it but with new words:
I know that my cats do sheddeth.
And here endeth the journey through my strange brain.