I only missed the one.

I hardly missed a beat while caroling with the voices of FM 89.9 and other revelers this afternoon.

It was the radio station’s holiday open house today and quite the crowd showed up—a record number according to a perky elf (Director of Donor Engagement) who led a tour of the facility. This our station is the classical station market leader in the United States and I like that a lot.

We ended the tour in the broadcast studio where Suzanne N. was broadcasting live as we stood there. During the music she was able to speak to us, and then she’d raise a polite finger, the red light would come on, and we would grow silent as she went on air to describe what had been played and the next piece. Then, she took off her headphones and asked for questions. “Do you ever weep as you are playing music?” I asked her. She grew wistful and smiled and told us about that one time, that once that she had.

Then she cued up the next piece and it was time for us to move to the Roger O. Doyle studio where Thursdays at Three is broadcast live on those Thursdays. But today it was where we all gathered for caroling accompanied by a gorgeous Steinway and more than one professional musician. I was not thinking of S.N. as I wept, but as I said, I hardly missed a beat, not even when the elderly woman sitting two seats to my right leaned over with her alto to join my tenor and we caroled together, she and I, in holiday harmony.

I admit that I did miss a beat (but just the one) when Warren B.  took the microphone and sang a fine renditon of this song:

Well . . . then it was time for another group, so we dispersed and I sat on a cushioned bench and chatted with late-night host Andrea M. All the other staff had on official, regulation plastic name tags, but hers was a large stick-on label, not even a name tag, just something she’d found and stuck to her stylish top.

But, there she was with her “velvet voice and impecable pronunciation” after a mutual introduction, and she said that she over-pronounces and I said that it is appreciated and she said it is because her mother had always insisted on it. And then we discussed mothers and food and table setting and we both agreed that what our moms had told us was good advice: “No labels on the table,” we said in unison.

Okay, I might have missed a beat then, too, just with the delight of the whole thing. But, it was the same beat. Just the one.

[Oh, great. Although this happended on Sunday, I am finishing after midnight. I just saved it, previewed it, and had the cursor on that blue publish button when this came on:


It is all too perfect, and so I am going to smile myself to sleep now.]

Good morning/noon/night . . .