Mrs Pickwick has long been absolutely essential to every choral ensemble to cross her path. Fr Pickwick has even been to known to claim that the show simply could not go on without her, as shows desperately need an audience and also musicians tend to be rather faint after performances and he prefers to be revived with Mrs. P’s fresh scones or perhaps a croissant. Recently, however, Mrs Pickwick took the bold step of joining a women’s choir, culminating in an actual concert performance.

Now, Mrs. Pickwick is not absolutely un-musical. She can carry a tune as long as the bucket provided doesn’t have any holes. Sometimes a little sloshes out one side or the other, but generally not too much as she tends to be on the cautious side and never runs with it, but just sort of nervously stands there with a tune she’s a little unsure how to take care of or where it would like to go. Perhaps it would fancy a scone?

Mrs. Pickwick’s vocal resume is also not absolutely a blank: She has sung to many babies, who have been quite appreciative. She has also been known to sing in the kitchen, at least until informed by Small that she is doing that impossible key changing thing again, which while unique is not exactly a compliment. She once took a music theory and conducting class, where she discovered that she could indeed count and breathe at the same time, but sort of petered out when requested to count, breath, and wave her arm. Adding pitch would have been the next lesson, had she ever mastered the breathing. Finally, Mrs Pickwick has been an active member of church choirs all her life, where she pays close attention at all times, never daydreams or plans the following week’s menu, and responds promptly to the commands of The Director:

“Come on people, where are you? Were you waiting for the other choir to sing??”
 “Yes, yes! Is there another choir available?? Or childcare? I would settle for either.”

“Just sing the notes! Look at the music in front of you!”
“I would like to, really, I just honestly and completely suddenly just now forgot how to sing, entirely. I can see it’s up, up, down, up but I don’t remember if it’s the up, up, down, up one I am thinking of or another one.”

“Don’t look so nervous! You look like you are afraid of the sound that will come out of your face!”
“That is because I am.”

“Head voice! A little more cover! Channel your inner Julia Child!”
“This is precisely similar to all those occasions when my father would  explain how the piston does the thing for the engine and I can recite the lecture and do all the hand motions and most of the sound effects but I still don’t actually know what a piston is. That’s a lively impression of someone, though, so I’ll just pretend to be you pretending to be her.”

“Breathe together everyone! For crying out loud, breathe together!”
“I am so sorry, the baby was actually holding my lips together.”

“So, just ignore the key on the page. The clergy have the melody in soprano so we are taking their note and tenors sing soprano, soprano take the alto line, infer the rest of the parts and double everything.”
“Well I am lost. As far as I can tell the clergy are holding the melody for ransom and I don’t have enough musical cash to have any hope of seeing it again. But I can do math, so 4 parts times 2 is 8 notes so I can’t go wrong as long as I don’t sing a note that is not a note since there are only 8 notes. Unless you count sharps and flats….but we’re ignoring the key…is that going to matter then….?”

With such impressive experience behind her, Mrs Pickwick confidently took her place between the strongest sopranos she could find, just in case her bucket got too heavy. She faithfully walked to each rehearsal (except the one she accidentally napped through), dutifully carried her sheet music to and fro and was never eaten by a bear despite walking after dark, practiced until the children could sing each piece even better than she could (about ten minutes), attempted valiantly to locate and raise her soft palate, occasionally had Baby P delivered to her by a long-suffering but somewhat desperate Fr Pickwick, and only once did she accidentally invite a lot of people over for a dinner on rehearsal night and then leave her own party to their own resources for entertainment (and clean-up). What dedication!

Really, everything was just peachy until the day of the performance. First, a minor wardrobe catastrophe. Concert blacks were requested. Mrs Pickwick never wears black. Partially because one person in the family wearing black all the time is enough to go around, and partially because wearing colors makes her feel cheerful, and partially because there is nothing black to wear besides one skirt, and a pair of sneakers. There are quite a few black tops in the house, but they all look rather clerical, being, in fact, clergy shirts. A quick SOS to a friend averted the crisis and Mrs. Pickwick soon had The Outfit.

Next, it was essential to transport 7 Pickwicks to the concert itself. Mrs. Pickwick wanted to leave plenty of time for this because it would involve driving in the car for twenty minutes. Packing the Pickwicks is quite the endeavor, but Fr Pickwick had assured Mrs P that she had nothing to worry about because he would prepare the children once it was time to go. Half and hour before the intended time of departure, Mrs Pickwick began gathering children, brushing hair, tossing snacks about and lecturing on shoe location processes. Fr Pickwick played the piano. 15 minutes before  the intended departure Mrs Pickwick began changing her mind about her outfit (should she go with the clergy shirt after all??), frantically looking for her music pages, asking Small and Sweet to chase Feisty and Busy, continued lecturing on shoe location processes, and wondered where the Baby was now. Fr Pickwick played the piano. 5 minutes before departure time, Mrs Pickwick had resorted to running about in circles shrieking “We Will Be LATE,” lecturing on shoe location processes, and becoming increasingly miffed that no one at all including Fr Pickwick seemed to intend to leave the house any time this year. Fr P played the piano. At the very moment of departure time, Fr Pickwick stood up, stretched, and said:

“Well, should you start walking?”

Mrs Pickwick dropped her music binder in disbelief: “Walking??? The concert is almost 10 miles away!! We are supposed to be there in 15 minutes.”

After a brief display of outstanding communication skills, during which no one was at all cross, both Pickwicks realized several things:
1. Fr P thought the concert was across the street and that Mrs P was crazy.
2. Mrs P thought Fr P was crazy.
3. While none of the Blessings have located their shoes, Feisty has located the missing music, noting that Busy is eating Mendelssohn, and THEY WILL BE LATE.

A few heart-racing and shoe-flinging moments later all the Pickwicks are in the car and traveling at a safe light-speed towards Mrs. Pickwick’s concert debut. And it was a lovely evening. Mrs P did not even drop her bucket.