Today's subject line comes to you from William Billings's Africa, which the shape-note class sang in a Berea College racquetball court this afternoon. The court is an extremely resonant chamber (the teacher described singing in it as something akin to singing in a large group shower), and "Africa" an exceptionally moving hymn. The version printed in the 1991 Sacred Harp songbook (#178) ends with this verse:

Why do we then indulge our Fears,
Suspicions and Complaints?
Is he a God, and shall his Grace
Grow weary of his saints?

At the end of the sing-through, there were more than a couple singers -- men and women both -- wiping away tears.

---

I am nursing a distinctly sore and raw throat, and tomorrow will be a long, intense, seventeen-plus-hour day (with assorted breaks in the mix -- but it's also probable that I'll be too keyed up to nap effectively), so the better part of valor may be to stay in tonight and catch up on some combination of sleep, correspondence, and journalling, especially since I need to have my full wits about me for -- well, anything involving placement of my hands and feet, and shape-note reading isn't second nature yet for me either. The greedy inner gadfly is protesting both how much I've sat out this afternoon -- there was both a swing dance and a cafe concert that were tempting -- and what I'll miss tonight if I stay in my nightgown (the main evening dance, the post-dance community song-and-stories session, and the after-dance -- more on those in a minute) -- but they're optional tonight, whereas tomorrow is the gala evening, and I need to not be fried for that. (It doesn't hurt that tonight is "t-shirt" night, whereas tomorrow everyone will be in their finery...)

Anyhow, last night I made it both to "Parlor" and the after-dance -- which meant I ran through today on less than five hours of sleep, but they were good fun. "Parlor" involves around 150 dancers and musicians crowding into a carpeted area for an hour or so of community time. It opened with the whole group singing "The Holly and the Ivy"; in between, the program included three fiddlers (including a kid with his instrument tuned in A major and pizzicating with his left hand -- very impressive), two rounds (including an attempt at one in eighteen parts), a clarinet duet playing Telemann, a contemporary gospel duet, a recitation of two Shakespeare sonnets, assorted announcements, a story-poem, and a hysterically funny double-bass demonstration-routine by Nathan Wilson that segued into a group sing of a gospel train song. I sat in the back due to my hat (more on that in a sec), crocheting, and saw at least four other needleworkers on my side of the room (including a boy college-age or younger).

So, that was nice. The after-dance was a workout -- I was on my feet for everything except the last waltz. My favorite pieces were the opening contra -- which was called "Ring of Four" and set to Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" (and included a line of four called as "Walk the Line") -- and "Belle of Versailles." There were some other dances with fantastic names -- one having to do with physics, and another called something like "Gerbil Mash" - but at this point I don't remember much about the actual moves.

The main dance -- I danced a handful, but quite a few of the figures turned out to be too advanced for me (and some of the people on the floor), so I wasn't unhappy to sit on the sidelines most of the time. I did swing and promenade through the opening mixer, which was great, because it was "funny hat night," and I was wearing the outlandish Professor Sinistra witch's hat my friend Edie had dolled up for me several years ago: it has a huge brim with feathery and lacy purple trim, planet-shaped beads, and glow-in-the-dark galactic motifs, and I was filled with glee every time I turned to a new corner or neighbor, because people were cracking up at the sight of it.

Some other things I want to remember:

I'm amused at how there's someone working on a temari ball almost every time I turn around (it's one of the standard classes at the School), and it's as often someone male as female

Waltzing with Jim Morrison (one of the instructors here) -- an older man with a very sweet smile and who kindly advised me on how to adjust my hands and weight so he could whirl me around more effectively.

Waltzing with Kevin Napier -- I believe he's third-generation Christmas School (I was partnered with his father during a triple minor English country dance during class today). He's barely as tall as my shoulder, he's probably not even in high school yet, and it was good fun dancing with him. (He has better posture and manners than several men more than twice his age, and that's all that I'll say about that.)

Meeting two other people with University of Chicago connections here.

During the brainstorming session of the mummers' play, someone had suggested a Chinese-style villain.... and, before I'd worked up the nerve to object, a distinguished white-haired Southern gentleman stated he wasn't cool with that. Bless him.

There has been more, but my mug is empty, I am wilted, and there are two lively writers' groups now parked at the tables next to me (their conversations have been mildly entertaining to overhear, but my ability to concentrate is already in a pitiful state, and I fear I will close the wrong window any minute now out of sheer distraction). Time to unplug and shuffle on...