"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." Eleanor Roosevelt

Monday, January 4, 2010

The Stonewall Brigade Band

For six years I have been a member of the Stonewall Brigade Band, my part is just a tiny fraction of the band's long history, not to mention quality. The big band, approximately 75 musicians at most concerts, plays a great variety of music.

www.stonewallbrigadeband



My mother was tickled pink when Southern Living featured us in their magazine -- and mentioned my name.



In my mom's eyes, I'm a celebrity; at least she has been bragging as if I am as long as I can remember. For instance, I was on a date in Georgetown this past autumn, at Billy Martin's Tavern: www.martins-tavern.com
- Let me just tell you, their meatloaf is the best. Anyway, we were eating outdoors, when a swarm of Secret Service cars converge, agents emerging, escorting The Secretary of State. With my cell phone, I texted my mother "Hillary Clinton is sitting 10 feet from me." Without a minute's pause, mom texted back: "If she asks for your autograph, be nice and give it to her."


That was Hillary's expression when she recognized me.

Back on topic, yes I have ADHD. . .So the Stonewall Brigade Band's Christmas concert was scheduled for December, 21, but the blizzard resulted in a reschedule, for tonight, Jan 4. This means I have to venture out into the tundra with my instrument.

I play the bassoon, or as EG used to call it, the "bigsoon".



I love the sound of my instrument. Think Grandfather in Peter and the Wolf. I love the way the sound resonates in my body when I play it. I like the way the wood smells each time I take it out of the case. I wish I had more time to practice, wish I played better than I do.

Summer concerts in the park are one of my favorite things in life. I can't quite find the words to describe the symphony of sensations it entails for me. The smells of the summer night air, the feeling of the keys rolling beneath my fingers, the brass blasting behind us, so no one hears the woodwinds . . .I'll try to write tomorrow and tell how the conert goes.

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