The Best Money I Ever Spent waits quietly in a black hardshell case.
The right hands can assemble it and have it ready to go in moments. It is quiet and dark in the case. When those hands open the case and carry it into the light, it sings again. I’ve smiled anytime The Best Money I Ever Spent sang a note. Read the rest of this entry »
It appears our friends who’ve been trapped in the Chilean mine are finally about to be freed. This is such great news for a world that is sorely lacking for something positive for a change.
That said, I’m not going to go as far as recommending that we go the cave in route to find a good vibe all that often. If it does get to the point that we have to have semi-regular cave ins to get some good news, I hope we can all agree that this group in Chile should get a pass from any future entrapments.
A few weeks ago I thought through the possibility of being similarly trapped. To complete the thought and to be prepared for any circumstance I am submitting my day by day to do list for when I am rescued from a mine. Read the rest of this entry »
The Best Money I Ever Spent sits quietly in a black hardshell case in a closet.
In the right hands, it can be assembled and ready to go in moments. It is quiet and dark in the case. When those hands open the case and carry it into the light, it sings again. I’ve smiled anytime The Best Money I Ever Spent sang a note. Read the rest of this entry »
So, in addition to the B flat trombone, and the trombone with the F trigger, our house now has a Tuba.
Our place is kind of tiny. Working for the city keeps the checks coming in, but the checks aren’t ever going to get us into a McMansion. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve written of my friend, Madam Director of Bands (MDB), before. She has been The Omawari-son’s high school band director for four years. I spend a lot of time volunteering with the band and she’s come to know my family and I very well. We’re better for having known her.
One of the things she has teased me a lot about this year, as we go through my son’s senior year, is that I am apparently more emotional than I realize.
I tend to think of myself as emotionally tough, and I’m right. MDB has picked up on that I am completely the opposite of that where the Omawari-son is concerned. She told me at the beginning of this school year “I am not looking at you at graduation, you are going to be a wreck.” I knew she was right, but tried to deny it. “No” she said, “you are going to be a mess. There is no question” We laughed about it and I tried to put it at the back of my mind.
Marching season went on. When you have a musician, fall is marching band season. Football is The Band’s opening act. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m writing this before getting the perspective of its main character, the Omawari-son. As regular readers of Blurt know, my son is a 17-year-old high school senior. He is a great kid. He is a leader in his school band. He is an honor student who picks other great kids as friends. As I’ve come to learn from this incident, he apparently thinks on his feet as well. Read the rest of this entry »
This is the last of my reposts of things from my previous blog while I’m on vacation. My son’s high school marching band is heavily into competitions and that means a lot of prop building by parents. It is prop building season again. This is a tale of woe from last year and an appreciation for a friend who is as competent as I am incompetent.
I am the son of a son of a tool guy. My Dad can build whatever he decides to. His father could do the same. I am incredibly incompetent with tools. It is one of those inexplicable things. I should have some ability, shouldn’t I? Some would say “it is what it is”. I hate that phrase.
My thumb is really hurting today, badly. Read the rest of this entry »
Its been a week since I’ve had a chance to blurt out anything new. Had a chance to spend the weekend out of town with great friends, so work had to be all consuming in the days leasing up to my escape. Thanks for sticking with me!
A few months ago I ran into what had to be the ultimate in misplaced grief. This is worse than any “In memory of…” sticker plastered on the back of some pizza delivery guy’s Kia. Read the rest of this entry »