HEN MUSIC

“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.” (original source unknown)

These days I find that I am the reluctant coordinator of a music program. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in, given that I like music to be good, and my own musical abilities are inconsistent at best. “Some day,” I promise myself in the spirit of hope, “we will find a music leader and I will return to the roll that suits me better, a helpful participant, a loudish singer, a generous giver of advice, much of which should probably be ignored.”
These days I hear myself clucking like the Little Red Hen who sought to bake a loaf of bread. At each step in the process she asked for help from her neighbours. I am the little Red Hen of the email generation. “Who will help me learn the music? Who will help me play the music? Who will help me sing the music?”
Sometimes, when the answers come in, I think I am the Little Red Hen, whose neighbours were far too busy for the gathering and preparation. “I would like to help you, but I’m going to Saskatoon.” “I’d like to help you, but I am hosting a party.” “Then I will do it myself,” I cackle.
And that’s where the whole Red Hen thing breaks down. In the end I am never really doing it myself. There are always people there to help, albeit fewer than we would wish. And there are days when I go off to California, or Calgary and I am not there to help. Through it all the email continues. Every week, in response, there is at least one note from Barb, a busy-but-infinitely helpful person. And every email from Barb concludes itself with this quote: “Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.” And even though every person who gets Barb’s email also gets this message, it somehow manages to speak directly to me.
Would the Little Red Hen have been happier in the age of email?