Wednesday, September 7, 2016
Substituting reminded me of an experience many, many years ago in Paris. No, I'm not going to talk about going around L' Etoile, a roundabout where twelve avenues converge around the Arc De Triomph and gives US drivers fits. (If you haven't seen the movie, European Vacation, watch it and picture me in the role Chevy Chase plays, driving round and round and never being able to get off). This was a church choir trip to London and Paris, singing at various churches.
In Paris, we discovered that our choir was supposed to sing in two churches at once. No problem. The choir director and one accompanist would go to one church, the other accompanist and our choir president would go to the other. And, you guessed it, I was the choir president.
I did my best to explain the situation to the pastor, who was bilingual--sort of--and we came out on the stage prepared to sing. He walked to the pulpit and began to spout French much faster than my guidebook grasp of the language could follow. But I'll never forget the last two words of his introduction: "Le Substitute."
Well, that's me, folks. Le Substitute. And to thank you for reading this far, I'll give a signed copy of my novella, Silent Night, Deadly Night, to one of you who leaves a comment (and who remembers to include your email address, so I can contact you).
Bon chance. That's good luck (or, at least, I think it is).