Sing You Sinners

Last weekend began the first of many, I hope, Saturday night choir rehearsals. The agenda was to be as follows: I go over the Lenin and Lionel's new house and make dinner for the rest of the choir, who then comes over to eat, then practice, then I make dessert, and then we eat dessert. Simple.

Only no gathering is ever simple or blase when you involve Lenin and Lionel.

I got over to their house and began preparations for a basic pasta dinner. Cook the pasta, cut up the various vegetables for the sauce, grate cheese, ect. Simple. But Lenin and Lionel are not used to the amount of food I make in preparation for people. I always expect that the people coming to eat are half-starved teenage boys who are going to devour everything in sight. The problem was their stove was rather small and their pots/pans were also very small. Food was overflowing everywhere. Somehow I managed to keep order. People arrived  - food was enjoyed by all. Rehearsal started. The things took a turn for the interesting.

The small kitchen

During the "rehearsal" process we discovered that the previous tennants had left behind some alcohol. How the guys missed this is beyond me. It was suggested that we help them dispose of said alcohol. Rehearsal got far more exciting.

Pre-wine

Post-wine

Needless to say, it was a great rehearsal. After we had practiced and felt dutifully prepared for Mass the next day, I began making dessert. I was going to try and create baked custard. Now, I had attempted this once before at my own house, with familiar tools and stoves and such. But I felt confident that all would end well. Part of difficultly of baked custard is the actual baking process. You have to put the custard in your "custard cups" (or coffee mugs for the college student), then place the mugs in a oven proof bowl/baking dish and finally - after placing it in the oven - add hot water to the bowl/baking dish. The idea is that the water cooks the custard and not the heat from the oven. So you have to be sure that whatever you put the mugs in (bowl/baking dish) has a high enough rim to reach the approximate height of the custard in the individual cups. Well, as I have previously stated, their stove was small, the pans were equally small. So it is possible that the water was not high enough. That was only one issue. The real concern was when I opened the oven to check on them and it started yelling at me - the oven that is. Yelling is not really the right word. It sounded like someone was snapping very loudly inside the oven. It is possible that the sugar was burning.

"The oven is yelling at me."

Naturally, I was a little worried about this. Solution as offered by the boys: Ignore it and turn the oven temperature up. That may not have been the best idea, but I was under the influence of free wine and may not have been thinking properly. The custard did eventually get eaten - but it did not look as you would expect custard to look. It was, oddly enough, watery. There was literally enough water in each mug that you could have poured it out of the cups. It did not have the smooth consistency you want. All in all - very strange. That, however, did not stop anyone from eating it. It was still quite edible - tasty even - but I have resolved that next time the custard will be beautiful.

The evening continued with more singing - of louder and louder volumes - until I questioned the happiness of their neighbors and it was decided that the party should dissolve. Not an "epic" night by any means, but truly a night to remember.

Enjoying the custard

Singing away

Still singing

Our House

My house is truly a thing of beauty. From the outside, it has a certain charm to it. The green doors, arched windows, the “Strictly NO Parking” sign, the faint smell of vomit as you pass the front steps; they all make you think of home. When entering the house, your senses are assaulted by a lovely shade of yellow that covers the inside – with green carpeting. On the first floor are the (useable) toilets. The one on the right doesn’t flush properly so you should always use the left one – unless it is raining, then use the right toilets because there is a leak in the ceiling of the left stall. When taking a shower make sure you turn the handle as far to the right as possible when you are done – otherwise it will come back to life later and flood the shower area. Do enjoy the lovely stainglass window when brushing your teeth; but make sure you don’t use the hot water a lot – it only runs for a few minutes out of the tap on the first floor. When walking up the stairs be sure to take notice of the huge crack that runs up the entire bright yellow wall, while also enjoying the winding stair case as you arrive at the top floor.

But those are just cute quirks of the house. Things you learn to live with and even appreciate. Maybe. With a sense of humor. It is just part of living in an old house. Everything is held together with duct-tape and spit.

It feels like nothing in this house is allowed to work perfectly. If the toilets work – the heating goes. My radiator finally begins to work – the water heater breaks. Heating and water fixed – the dryer ceases to work. This weekend we had no water. It just stopped working. It stopped on Saturday evening. By the time the workers got out there it was late, and they said that one of our pipes had probably burst – one of the underground pipes. And due to the lack of sunlight, they would not be able to fix everything until the next day. It turns out, the construction crew behind our house hit one of our water pipes and just, you know, forgot to let anyone know. The university was nice enough to provide us with bottled water and told us to use the Treehouse facilities until it was fixed. There was even a shower, they promised us. 

But this was no ordinary shower. This was a scary handi-cap shower. the kind that is just a room with a drain in the middle and a removable shower-head. So you have to take a shower one-handed. Which never works out well because  - well, who can control those things properly?! And then, because there is no shower curtain, your clothes that you are going to change into get soaked from the water that goes EVERYWHERE despite the drain in the floor. Oh, did I mention the toilet? Yup - that's right, complete with toilet. And the toilet comes with a nice back cushion. Needless to say - I did not shower there. No, I chose to go with Karin to nearby University housing and use a friends shower. Only - the good shower was taken. So I, being the courteous friend, gave Karin the real shower and instead used the (wait for it) handi-cap shower. This one was, somehow, even more creepy. I did survive, but with some scars. The lesson here is this: Always expect the Spanish inquisition. 

I Can't Explain

Okay people - hold onto your hats because this is about to get interesting. 

You may recall from "The Epic of Kelsey's Life" (No, there is not an actual book. Stop trying to buy it on amazon.com!) that I was one of the lucky students to travel to Greece this summer. A few students from Wesleyan's Concert Choir traveled across the big blue and performed "Carmena Burana" in The Festival of the Aegean.

Leanne and I, Athens in the Background.

Syros. So beautiful.

The Lovely Ladies of Wesleyan. 

God - look at that scenery. I am almost drooling right now, just thinking about the food. And the warmth. And the sun. And the music. And the warmth. Anyway, the point of the story is that I participated in a music festival in Greece. It was an amazing experience. The music was breathtaking. I was so lucky to experience it - and with such wonderful people as well!

Here is how this is all connected to Ireland: 

I was leaving Queen's Chamber Choir rehearsal yesterday evening and ended up walking next a new member. So I started up some friendly conversation. 

"Where are you from?"

"Athens."

"Really? I was there this summer!"

"Wow - were you just enjoying a vacation?"

"Sort of. We had a few days in Athens, but most of the trip was spent in Syros."

"Wait - you were in Syros this summer?"

"Yeah, I was performing in the Festival -"

"OF THE AEGEAN?!"

Turns out, she was in the same festival that I was! She performed Carmena with me this summer and we both had no idea - something completely possible in a choir of 400. But think about it! Who would have thought that I, Kelsey Tinsman, would go to Ireland and find myself singing with someone from Greece who performed in the exact same music festival that I did? Unbelievable. I think it is safe to say that I have made myself a new friend. After we discovered this unlikely coincidence (and after the screaming and hugging) we spent the rest of the time confusing other member of the choir by talking in broken phrases; "Did you go see the concert where -" "Oh, gosh, wasn't that amazing?" "And the Rutter requiem, with the part!" "God - so good!" and so on and so forth. 

Just another example of how my life is a series of ridiculous and comical events. 

Kelsey