I woke up on Saturday morning to find a note on the table from Fi (“Gone swimming!”) and a shaky feeling of surrealism as I relived, in my mind, the events of the day before. Before I could get too caught up in trembling thoughts, though, the day was off and running and I was off and running with it. Off and running and skipping and twirling and singing and dazzling and gallivanting… only partly metaphorically.
After collecting Fi from the swimming pool, the two of us met up with another SWGC alto (I’m a soprano, by the by. In case anyone is interested. Which, most likely, you aren’t. The end.) and headed to Moruya’s Saturday markets.
At the Moruya markets, we found donuts…
At the Moruya markets, we also spied a dog trapped in a terrifying Leg Prison…
…but before I could pull out my Superhero Cape to save the pup, I found myself distracted by the flavoured nuts stand. Wasabi macadamias, caramelised macadamias, Vienna almonds, honey cashews, honey peanuts, tamari almonds, and honey sesame cashews, I tried them all. And then didn’t actually buy any because I suddenly realised that we were going to be late for our first concert if we didn’t skedaddle immediately. Sorry, Nut Stand Man. I totally ate all your samples and then disappeared in the rudest possible way. Please forgive me.
After a quick change of clothing, Fi, J.Alto and I arrived just in time for our first Moruya Jazz Festival gig, the Festival of Voices.
This first performance went not only smoothly but sparklingly, and it made me happy to see my parents, who had driven up that morning, smiling at me from the audience. Well, Mum was smiling. Dad’s face was hidden behind his enormous camera. Thanks, Dad, for the concert photos in these Moruya posts! Your camera is scarily huge and intimidating but altogether welcome in my life.
My dad actually video-recorded several parts of our performances. I love seeing how intently we singers watched and followed the guidance of Dan, our fantasticamical (for today, that’s a real word, okay?) musical director. I was also super delighted with how well our first public attempt at Holy, Holy, Holy turned out, as the jazzy-magical piano improvisations of Andy (whom you met at Jindera) got us in a vibrant and enthusiastically-clappy-clappy singing mood.
With our first performance under our [purple] belts and six hours to go before the next, Fi and I once again proved how intertwined our thoughts are. We each had only one thing on our minds: Paddlepops. Or maybe Golden Gaytimes. To me, there is nothing more quintessential, more necessary, more inevitable when at the coast than the thrill of trying to eat a Paddlepop (or Golden Gaytime) before it melts all over your fingers.
However, knowing that you don’t have to be female to enjoy ice cream, I quickly darted over to Andy and Dan in the hopes of convincing them to join our ice cream adventure. Before I could get them to say yes, however, I found myself enveloped in words of condolence for my grandma’s passing and the kind of squeezy-wonderful hugs that (for as long as they last and a little bit after) make all your sadness fade away.
And then we went for ice cream.
(There seemed to be some sort of gendered ice cream behaviour going on that day, because both boys went for Magnums whereas Fi and I selected Paddlepops. Surely there’s a PhD in that?)
Can you find it? A hint: look for the pink that appears to be a tail-light.
But just in case you need proof…
P.S. The second half of this day was perhaps even more magical than the first, if you can believe it. (And more scary too. Because, well, my solo.) But we’ll get to that in good time.