Skip to main content

Wishes for Good Weather



Director Fred

Well, this is it. This is the day of the Dominic Greco band's finale concert to be played in the lovely small-town-cute park with stone walls, giant old trees, a real carousel with the original 1900s-something horses, and the band shell. After this sign-that-summer-is-over concert, we will all pack up and race down town for a second concert (a musical double header) that will be part of the town's Long Night of Music.

The town couldn't be farther from Vienna--in every imaginable aspect!--but they're trying. They're trying to be something better than the beige of Middle Ohio by hosting an evening patterned after something that someone sometime heard they host in Vienna. It's a "long night of music" with hour after hour of bands, etc. Our slot is from 9 to 9:45, and we'll be playing on the same portable stage that the Cleveland Orchestra uses for their portable performances.

So, what's the problem, since this is a day that should make me happy? Rain is the problem, scattered thunderstorms actually. Of all days. My grass is crisp from no rain. We've had to add water to the pool with the garden hose from no rain. My single pot of flowers is a pot of dried up sticks from no rain. But today, rain.

I'm holding out for a changing in the wind, for a shift in the system that might take this weather pattern north just 20 miles.

My music-for-occupation friends mock me for my enthusiastic relishing of these concerts, my novice/childlike excitement when I get to play. There must have been time in their earlier years when they felt the same yippee thing--I'm just sorry that my happy face doesn't rub off on them. Oh well. Their loss.

Please, God, no rain today for small-town-cute concerts. The dying grass can wait!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...