Just Hum

My ability to volunteer for projects I know nothing about ranks up there with the number of people who attempt to make it to the top of Mount Everest.Alas, my success rate is lower than those hearty climbers.

I signed up to join the choir at our local fellowship and received a notice a few days later with the list of three songs we would be performing at the next Sunday service. Excitedly I scanned the list of songs we were to sing, and disbelief, horror, and panic engulfed me.

The tunes were to be sung in Spanish. Those who have followed my writings, are aware my Spanish is limited to “Hola” for hello, and…well, that’s it. I’m told quite often I don’t pronounce that correctly.

My friends here in Mexico know I do not know Spanish, I do not speak nor read Spanish, and if I can’t say ‘hola’ properly, no other Spanish words exiting my vocal cords will be articulated with accuracy.

But, setting my panic aside, I thought no one would notice if I just moved my mouth as though I knew what I was doing, people would think I was a trained Mexican songster.

I love to sing, preferably with gusto and at loud volumes, even if I don’t know the words. I usually can hit the notes within a range close to the proper key, and I have been told folks recognize my voice. Of course, I have assumed that to be a positive accolade about my musical talent.

Knowing I could not say the Spanish words anywhere close to the way Mexicans do, I stood between two elderly non-Mexicans who are bi-lingual, hoping for the best.

Unfortunately, my hopes fell short of ‘the best’. My voice carried, my notes were somewhat correct, and no Mexican recognized the words I was singing.

Of course, that wasn’t a big deal to me, because I didn’t recognize nor understand the words I was mispronouncing either.

I have often said I would like to be a backup singer in my next lifetime, but with a bit of luck future audiences will not be subjected to my singing prowess.

I do wonder why I was asked to be in the choir because as we age our singing abilities, if we have any, become compromised and less dependable. Add to that the demise of our ability to hear and see, and the mixture does not promise great sounds.

Looking around at the other choir members I realized, the average age was probably somewhere in the 80s. What can one expect from a bunch of aging wanna-be vocalists who are adjusting their hearing aids, trying to get their tri-focals focused at the right distance, don’t know Spanish, and have voices barely audible unless you are sitting in the front row pews. Who sits there? Certainly not the hard of hearing.

I may not get a return invitation to share my voice with the fellowship masses, unless I am willing to just hum, but my doglets are perfectly content to sleep through my renditions of Amazing Grace. They never went to an eastern Oklahoma Presbyterian Church, and they don’t seem to notice if I don’t pronounce English properly. Afterall, they are Mexicans.