It was about 6:00 p.m., and we were on our way to look at a house to potentially purchase. The route to our destination took us down the street that is home to our current house.
My eyes first landed on the for sale sign in the front yard..pan..... to The House- a perfect little light green bungalow. The perfect component of it being the porch, which houses the porch swing. This is something that I have coveted since I can remember, a remnant left over of a childhood spent on my best friends porch swing.
The house sits caddy-corner from a high school track field, which, I was told was no longer in use as a school, but was being converted into an arts center. The field serves as the neighborhoods off leash dog park. Disclaimer: This is where my memory might be a little skewed out of proportion, a chronic symptom of the romanticism in my DNA. As we drove by the house, everything converted to slow motion. I watched as the neighbors -leashed dogs in hand, gleefully exited their homes and trolloped down the walk to the dog park, all the while -get this- calling out Hello's to the passer-by's. Maybe I had seen a few too many musicals at the time. As I recall, it had been a particularly long and dark winter.
I was sold. I wanted, I needed that house. But the problem was that it was way out of our price range. So, as the story goes, we made an offer on the other house, the one that we were on our way to see, we were out bid and sad for about three weeks until.....the perfect little green house- with it's swing and it's dog park- dropped in price, making itself affordable to us!
That was a very long back story- sorry, I can't help myself- having your undivided attention and all- I get excited. Here's the meat of my story.
So, we buy the little green bungalow and we move in. The start of 'The Beginning Of The Rest Of Our Days', staged in front of the setting sun, gin and tonic in one hand, a book in the other, sitting on the porch swing...together, happily ever after until....
Enter................................
THE MARCHING BAND.
Oh My God! This Is Surely Hell.
First, let me ask you this: Did you know that college marching bands compete, much like college sports teams, to be number one in the nation? And that to be number one, it takes a whole lot of practice, like 4 hours a day of practice, in the morning and in the night. Second, did you know that there really is such a thing as 'Band Camp'? I thought it was a farce the only happens in the movies, usually revolving around the flute player, but believe me, Band Camp is real. So is their never ending schedule.
And all that practicing takes place in the field caddy-corner to my house- to my porch swing, in the very field that people are suppose to act gleeful- and my interpretation of Glee does not include trombones, drums and the devil himself with a head mounted microphone.
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Later....
This is to prove just how serious I am:
This is 1/4 of the kids. Yes, those of them that are not in the photo also have instruments, probably a trombone, tuba or drum.
1 comment:
Wow! That sounds like a little slice of heaven alright. I'm so happy for you guys!
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