To avoid my plethora of problems for a couple of hours, I attended a high school band recital running on fumes, a dab of leftover mashed potatoes, and Goldfish crackers (it’s been a life-roll kind of season).
Before and during the performance, an overeager emcee declared this would be the last concert some of the graduating seniors would ever be a part of.
Queue the “we’re witnessing a major milestone” vibe, which meant heaviness, which meant my brain cells went “nope” and found something else to “do” during the show while still appreciating the show…
The various talented solos made me wonder how the parents coped with the hours and hours of practice that created such competent musicians.
Of course, there were a few missed notes and squeaks here and there, which made me wonder if the parents bought stock in Excedrine.
But kudos to all on a well-done performance.
I’ve been in a few plays. If I forget what I’m doing, I can paraphrase to some extent, and the show goes on.
I’ve seen choir directors advise singers to mouth “watermelon” on repeat should the chorus be forgotten. I tried to see if any of the kids were mouthing watermelon instead of blowing into their saxophones, but no… everyone seemed dialed in and knew what they were doing.
I suppose members of symphonic bands and wind ensembles don’t get the kind of wiggle room that allows for watermelon cheats.
As good as the bands were, I was most impressed with the conductor.
Well. Not quite…
Little Miss Muse and I were rather taken by his tiny magic wand.
I mean, that stick has to be enchanted, right? To keep a few dozen humans and their instruments on tempo and in sync? And not just any humans—teenage humans.
What power must be in that tiny sliver of a thing? To point at a group of people and the flutes flute and all the drums drum.
“If I had that stick, I’d beat you with it.” Little Miss Muse twirls her curls with one hand as she pulls a long string of chewed grape bubble gum from her mouth.
“I’d let you at this point. We’ve been looking for a magic wand that works. That might be as close as we can get.” I sit back at the keyboard and wonder what it would be like to be smitten with… direction and focus.
“Might keep you on track.” She mimes waving a wand at me. “Writer, write!” Then she watches as my hands remain still over the keyboard. She huffs and rolls her eyes at me. My purple-winged muse and I are at odds at the moment.
“Don’t be mad at me for being stuck. I’m doing the best I can in the middle of the craziness. We’re doing good to keep the blog alive.”
Little Miss softens a bit. “The equivalent of ‘watermelon watermelon watermelon’ until we know how things go.”
Yeah. It is.
Just like that.
So, Dear Reader, if you happen to see me wandering in public, mouthing four syllables on repeat, you’ll know what’s up.
Beth has no idea what’s happening and she’s waiting for the words to come back.
Or for the magic wand she ordered 45 years ago to show up in the mail…
