Choir and Harp music gifts of Christmas
Last Sunday the Vancouver Welsh Men's Choir played a concert at the Massey Theatre with Winter Harp. Things dovetailed beautifully.
After going with my family to choose our Christmas tree at the neighbouring farm where we always get them, I was dropped off at the door at the last possible minute. The signals for the audience to be seated were already sounding.
As if that weren't luck enough, when I asked to buy a ticket at the box office, I was given a free one. Someone was unable to use it, and rather than see it wasted, wanted to give it away.
Dressed in their medieval best, Winter Harp opened on harps and other ancient instruments. Then the choir filed in from the sides, filling the hall with their melodious voices. More than a hundred strong, men of all sizes and shapes, in formal suits with wine ties and cummerbunds filed onto the stage, ranged themselves behind the harps and sang. Pure magic.
Evening found me walking through residential New Westminster, new CDs clutched in my bag. Many houses had festive Christmas lights.
My cell phone rang, and my daughter's voice inquired. "Where are you, Mom?" I glanced up at the sign on the intersection where I was standing and reported my location. "I think if I just go down here," I said, "I'll soon be at the station. I'll call when I'm on the train."
But the walk took half an hour. I'd overshot New West Station and arrived at Columbia. Long walk, short train ride, station pickup, home and family. The final gifts of a very special day.
After going with my family to choose our Christmas tree at the neighbouring farm where we always get them, I was dropped off at the door at the last possible minute. The signals for the audience to be seated were already sounding.
As if that weren't luck enough, when I asked to buy a ticket at the box office, I was given a free one. Someone was unable to use it, and rather than see it wasted, wanted to give it away.
Dressed in their medieval best, Winter Harp opened on harps and other ancient instruments. Then the choir filed in from the sides, filling the hall with their melodious voices. More than a hundred strong, men of all sizes and shapes, in formal suits with wine ties and cummerbunds filed onto the stage, ranged themselves behind the harps and sang. Pure magic.
Evening found me walking through residential New Westminster, new CDs clutched in my bag. Many houses had festive Christmas lights.
My cell phone rang, and my daughter's voice inquired. "Where are you, Mom?" I glanced up at the sign on the intersection where I was standing and reported my location. "I think if I just go down here," I said, "I'll soon be at the station. I'll call when I'm on the train."
But the walk took half an hour. I'd overshot New West Station and arrived at Columbia. Long walk, short train ride, station pickup, home and family. The final gifts of a very special day.