Skip to main content

Did I say "Please, God, no rain"?

I believe I did, and with the exception of a powerful but brief outburst in the afternoon, the day was delightful. And the humidity cleared just in time for my delightful concert in the park. Delightful, I said, now three times because it really was.

At the concert in the park, we played about an hour and 20 minutes--the finale to Tchaikovsky's 4th symphony, a couple big band numbers, Figaro, a Sinatra number, and then of course God Bless the USA. Whatever, even with that stupid thing, it was so much fun. No wait, it was DELIGHTFUL. My mother and daughters were in the audience, too, and my mother loved the salute to Spike Jones.

Then everyone packed up the truck, cleared the stage, and rushed down town for the second round. The Long Night of Music stage was huge--large enough, at least, to hold the Cleveland Orchestra--so I knew it wouldn't collapse under the weight of an 80-piece band and all of its crap. It seemed a little odd to schedule our group in the midst of different rock bands. One hour, a 7-piece classic rock band played, then they cleared off for us. Then we were followed by more small groups. You really couldn't be too focused on any particular genre to be part of the audience for the entire evening.

Anyway, back to the stage. It was portable with a canvas cover and colored lights (also odd for a community band who plays things like salutes to Spike Jones). At this one, we did more big band and Figaro again because people like it, and then we did some other things--Shenandoah, Amazing Grace, and Italian Polka. Just can't get away from that Italian stuff. We should have finished by 9:45, but Director Fred was just glowing. He looked around at the lights and the crowd and got this little-boy grin. "What are they gonna do? Kick us off?" he said. And we kept playing until 10. Very cool. Very satisfying. Very delightful. I want to do it again.

But we're finished for the season, and the orchestra doesn't start until Labor Day. Enough time to rest the chops, I guess.

On the drive home, I was thinking about how I approached these concerts when I first started playing six years ago. I aimed to play 70% of the notes and rhythm's correctly. If I could play at least that well, then I'd be happy. Now, I shoot for 90 to 95%, and I think I pulled it off last night. I was DELIGHTED with myself.

Another thing, on the way back to my car after round-two, needy-teenager-friend ran after me and walked with me for the block or two to the parking lot. And then I gave her a full-body hug (with no pelvic thrust, Jason, in case you were wondering), which she initiated.

So, the evening was good. Satisfying. Delightful.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...