Dropped drum sticks, wad of TP, George and gang highlight holiday

My promised list of favorite Yuletide gifts and memories (because so often, “presence” is the best present):

Middle school music (really!), a gift significantly supplemented by Old Man Winter—Vi’s band and chorus concert was originally scheduled on a Tuesday that got snowed out. No school, no concert. But for our family, that became a big blessing because Grandma and Grandpa were not going to be able to attend the event, until it was rescheduled for the following Monday night. My dad conducted the junior high band for more than three decades on the very stage our Vi played Dad’s own instrument of expertise, the venerable “Voice of God” (more humbly known as the trombone). Dad had attended previous concerts of Vi’s in the A-Town Middle School auditorium, but this one seemed special, considering his history.

I could write a whole entry about this, but I’ll share 3 tidbits that made this concert memorably funny:

1.       During a quiet section of the concert’s choral component, some dopey kid dropped his brass mouthpiece on the concrete floor of the auditorium. Classic. Dad stifled a laugh and demonstrated a twisting motion to me. (Basic brass instruction: When inserting mouthpiece into instrument, twist gently to secure the mouthpiece.)

2.       During a quiet section of the concert’s band component, some dopey drummer’s sticks clattered cacophonously on the hardwood stage. “How quickly,” flashed immediately to mind, referring to one of Dad’s many famous sayings pertaining to junior high kid behavior: “How quickly they become bored.” Dad stifled more laughter. I leaned over, chuckling also, and whispered, “Sure, you can laugh now that you’re on the other side of the podium!”

3.       Just before the junior high jazz band took the stage, Dad saw fit to retell one of his many instrument jokes: “What’s the difference between a bari sax and a lawn mower? ……. The reed.” But then the bari sax player, whose mere appearance on the stage had inspired the joke, played two solo riffs and proved his tone superior to that of a grass-cutting machine. Dad changed his tune and said something like, “A solid bari sax player like that can really anchor a group. You can build a good sound from that kind of bass line!” A few pieces later, the concert band played an African drum song that called for different drums to be played throughout the ensemble, not just by percussionists. Mr. Bari Sax took a turn at some tom-toms and—wow!—knocked our cynical socks off. He was so adept at the drumming, we couldn’t help but laugh again. “He’s a keeper!” Dad said while we applauded the group. “Give that kid limo service to and from the concerts!”

Vi was great, too, of course. Dad noted the strength of the lower brass section of the 6^th grade band. Dad also noted Vi’s stylish black-and-white checkered scarf, because Dad’s a bit metro that way.

The concert ended with a Christmas sing-along including—I could hardly believe it!—an abbreviated version of “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” which, I had just complained a day or two earlier, is a regrettably under-sung Christmas hymn. (My friend and fellow blogger Holly wrote a very insightful entry about this song a few weeks ago.)

Handmade for the holiday—Pearl both procured and presented some of the coolest Yuletide gifts this year:

·         Nestled among the (if-I-do-say-so-myself) smartly wrapped presents under our tree was a wad of toilet paper, topped by an exceptionally extravagant curly gold bow. Inside the wad, it turned out, was a precious gift for Lia: Pearl’s magic rock. Pearl had plucked the porous piece of pumice from among the shale at our family’s annual vacation destination. In Pearl-esque painter fashion, she had transformed it into a “rainbow rock,” which evolved into her “magic rock” and remained one of her most prized possessions until about a week before Christmas, when she mummified the object of her affection and bequeathed it to another, her much-more-prized baby sister. If this sacrifice doesn’t exemplify the spirit of the season, then I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.

·         Speaking of monkeys, Santa brought Pearl a super-cute, super-sized sock monkey made by an elf named Elsa. Meet “Flower,” Pearl’s new BFF. (Message me if you want to know where to find a friend like Flower.)

·         Tucked behind the tree was another treasure from our resident Cindy Lou Who: a big box of family portraits. Pearl had taken advantage of all the packaging materials entering the house last month and had created 6 canvases, giving us each a likeness of ourselves on Styrofoam. (sample picture forthcoming)

A final favorite Christmas memory: Midnight Mass—I’ve waxed poetical before about Midnight Mass at St. Joe’s Church and how much I enjoy it. The same was true this year, perhaps even more so since I wasn’t sure until, literally, the 11^th hour, whether or not I’d finish my Christmas preparations in time to scurry up the block. In spite of several November and December wrapping sessions, I found myself surprised by a pile of naked presents on the eve of the 25^th. So, I set up in front of the television with George Bailey and the gang as my company, and I wrapped as rapidly as I could. The movie ended at 11, and so did my job—except that I needed to stuff the stockings and stage the tree room for C’mas morn. Will helped. Around 11:30, I was “cleared for take-off”! I primped minimally, shrugged into my handiest jacket, and hustled out the door. The words of the hymn “joyful and triumphant” rang in my mind—I made it! I’m on my way to Midnight Mass! And do you know? For the slightest second, I looked up into the starry sky and expected to see Santa’s sleigh. Silly me…but it was a wonderful imaginary notion. In a flash, I found myself kneeling with the faithful, earnestly believing in the best present imaginable: God’s Love, made manifest in the Christ Child. “Venite adoremus, Dominum.”