The event goes smoothly because each man has put in copious hours going over the notes and tempos. The reward comes when four guys who have never met before form an impromptu quartet. There are no introductions, just a glance at the pins stating lead, bari, tenor, bass.  Someone pitches it. The music pours out like cream into coffee. No one hurries through the chord modulations. Eyes are on each other for clues as four men who were strangers last week blend into honeyed sound. One of the peripheral challenges is to try to sing in a foursome with every other person over the course of two days. That means knowing more than one part. John made it to seventy.

 

I bet the conductor loves his job. Working with folks who are unsure of the words, much less the pitch can be frustrating. But a chorus of people who have done their homework is a scillion times more enjoyable. There is no time wasted when extreme barbershopping rules the day.

 

In some ways our time on this wee planet is merely the rehearsal. We are given a playbook, and time to practice living the script. Maybe we have not found our true married partner, and the effort feels lonely. But after a lifetime of going over the actions and words until they are hammered into our brains, they become part of who we are.

 

I can picture someone who spent fifty years practicing kindness crossing the threshold of heaven, walking up to a perfect stranger. He nods, gives a pitch and they break into song. 

 

She smiles, because they both know the words.