Handel's "Messiah" and a Night of Odd Dreams

So, I had been looking forward to last night for a week and a half; it was the opening night of the Winston-Salem Symphony's performance of Handel's "Messiah." My friend Saoirse's grandfather is in the symphony, and as a result, we were able to make use of free tickets that he is given for certain performances. After school, I walked home, dawdled for several hours (as we haven't been assigned much homework in this blessed week before Christmas vacation), observed the roasting chicken that my dad had put into the slow cooker, and played around with an online translator. Then, my dad came home earlier than I thought he would, and around 6:00 ish, we got a call (after some technical, phone-related difficulty) from Saoirse about the traveling arrangements; it was decided that, as her mother was headed in the direction of the church to buy some things anyway, she would come pick my dad and I up around 7:00 and drive us over to the church where the concert would be performed, Centenary United Methodist Church, which is on Fifth Street near the library. Then, I scrambled to prepare, putting on my nicest concert dress with the gray half-sweater over it. I reapplied my makeup and even decided to wear some scent.
Soon, Saoirse, her mom, and her baby sister pulled up outside of our house. We got into the car, drove over to the church, and fought through the crowds to the entrance (we ended up having to consult two different "box office" tables to find the reserved tickets). The architecture of the church's interior was stunning (I can't really communicate it better than this). The Sanctuary had one main aisle, with long pews on either side; we were assigned to the right side of Row 6, which was one of the best rows to be had. From my specific spot, I had a clear view of the raised conducting platform, the choir, and the two choral soloists who performed on our side of the room: the tenor (who was my favorite) and the mezzo-soprano. We settled in our seats, conversing, as the musicians (who were, sadly, unable to be seen, as they were basically on the same level as us) tuned their instruments.
Then a hush fell over the room as the tuning stopped, and a great moment of suspense preceded first the entrance of the choral soloists, then of the director himself. We applauded, and the "Sinfonia" section of the "Messiah" began without any further introductory words.
Wow. The first part passed, which wasn't even my favorite part, and I was still amazed by the Handel's ability to come up with even that long of a piece to celebrate his religion; it was odd, but I had the feeling, as I was watching, that the only choral singer who truly felt what he/she was singing, felt more than the pure musical value, was the soprano, who was my dad's least favorite. At a few moments, when I was able to sneak a glance around the heads of the people in front of me, I could see her face, and she was almost tearful. Also, as far as passion and stage presence goes, the conducting was fun to watch as well.
After the second part, there was a "pause," during which the choral soloists and the conductor left the stage for a very brief time; when they came back, I expected that everyone would clap as they did with their appearance after the intermission; alas, they did not. I started to clap, stopped myself just in time, and laughed for no particular reason. Well, for some reason, this amused Saoirse as well, and it happened that everyone seemed to become silent as we were fighting to overcome our amusement; my dad informed me that, yes, people were staring at us. I felt sort of guilty after that, and I hope that the musicians/choral performers/director know that I was not laughing at them, but at my own stupidity.
So, the end of the performance came, and Saoirse's grandfather left with the other musicians before I could be introduced to him. Saoirse's mom drove us back home, we thanked them, went inside, ate our dinner, showered, and finally, around midnight, retired.
Last night, I had these two really weird dreams that I awoke from feeling inordinately stressed out.
In the first dream, my dad, Saoirse, and I were again attending the concert. However, it was earlier in the day, and when we first arrived outside of the church, we were barely able to find a spot to park because about every available space was taken up by these white activity buses, from which poured a multitude of women, mainly in their early twenties. Because of this invasion, we were barely able to make it inside of the building, let alone squeeze into the Sanctuary, where we were forced to stand, still not able to see over the heads of all the women.
The next day, in the dream, I read an article in the newspaper about the event, written by a woman who had "attended the national event (herself)." She wrote about the mobs of women who had migrated from all parts of the country, and even from other parts of the world, simply to look at the music director. The journalist was from San Francisco, and had allegedly traveled a whole week on an activity bus just to be present at this event. When I woke up, I felt cheated, and irritated with the women from other states; North Carolina should be allowed a few secrets and treasures to keep to itself, in my subconscious's opinion.
So, the next dream was not quite as detailed; I remember that I was at a creative writing club meeting. I remember seeing Chloe, Molly, Max, and Walker in this dream, gathered together in the center of Ms. Fitzgerald's room when I first walked in. We sat, as usual, on either side of the room in the desks provided, listening to various authors who took the floor to read of their poetry or prose, just as we usually do; then, at the end, we were trying to decide what activity we should do. Somehow, we came to an agreement that a productive activity would involve the collaborative creation of a poem; however, instead of recording our thoughts on paper, someone suggested that we write the lines of the poem on the bare soles of each other's feet. We retrieved pens from the back of the room and sat in a circle, reaching across every now and then to write an idea on the bottom of someone's foot. It was in the middle of this process that I woke up; thankfully, we did not do any of this at the creative writing club meeting today : )

Medicine Dream

So, last night, I had another weird dream; it's the first time that I have been able to remember a dream since last week, when I had memorable dreams almost every night. In the dream, the marching band had to play for some sort of awards ceremony for outstanding student achievement in physical education classes. I remembered thinking in the dream that people like Terry and Chandler were probably going to be there, the valedictorians of athletic awards. The building in which the ceremony was located was on Fifth Street, close to where the library would be in real life. The main hall of the building was huge, with a long aisle down which the marching band and the recipients of the athletic awards would march. We, the marching band, prepared to make the long march down the aisle to the podium, putting on our uniforms and scrambling to our places in line. All of the boys wore their usual uniforms, while the girls wore old-fashioned wedding dresses. I stood in my usual spot, in front of the snares and behind the quads, clutching the cymbals, when I heard a minor argument taking place somewhere to our left. I looked over to behold the stereotype of scientists, in white lab coats, gloves, and translucent goggles. They were huddled together, speaking in low, anxious tones. Since we had about five minutes to spare, I decided that I would approach and ask what the problem was. I walked over and noticed that the wiry-framed scientist who seemed to be the leader of the group was clutching a beaker that was half-filled with a cloudy green substance that was frothing slightly.

"Sodium did not work." one of the other scientists said.

"I think I realized that, thank you," the leader scientist snapped, "But we need to find something that will perfect this medicine. That boy needs it before he marches down the aisle." He pointed at a tall, athletic blond boy who sat on a bench near the entrance, grimacing with pain as he clutched his ankle.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

One of the younger scientists turned to me. "He's got a sprained ankle." she said.

While the scientists quarreled some more, I pulled from nowhere the periodic table that just happened to exist at that moment. I searched for sodium on the poster, and when I found it, I looked at the elements above and below it, in the same family. I picked the one on the very bottom, figuring (with the small amount of chemistry knowledge that I possess) that the bottom element would be the most potent, while still having the same amount of valence electrons (I don't remember which element it was).

Returning to the group of scientists with the poster, I asked them, "Have you guys tried this element yet?" I presented my argument for its validity. The scientists were impressed, and shocked.

"Of course!" said the leader. "How could we not have thought of this element? Eric, lets get a sample of it to test in the medicine." Eric, a small, blond man, pulled a capped tube from his pocket, uncorked it, and tipped it over the beaker. The solution inside immediately became a warm, red color. The scientists whooped.

"This is it!" said the leader, clapping Eric on the back. "This is definitely the cure for a sprained ankle. Hey, kid! Come over here - drink this!" The boy sitting on the bench hobbled over to the group of scientists, drank the solution, gingerly put his weight on his previously-injured foot, and grinned when he did not feel pain. The scientists broke into another chorus of celebration.

Just then, the ceremony began, and I had to sprint to make it back into my place in the line. As we slowly marched up the aisle, I could hear a faceless man who stood at the podium up front announce the names of all the Reynolds students who had exceeded athletic expectations that year.

"Also," he said towards the end of his announcements, as we came closer to the front of the room. "We'd like to acknowledge a student who has made a great contribution to modern medicine on this day, Robyn Witt, the co-creator of the cure for sprained ankles!"

The room exploded. Everyone applauded and whooped for my accomplishment. I felt quite proud of myself in that moment. It was about here that I woke up.

Updates and Tigers

So, as far as updates go, this week has been eventful; our band concert was tonight, and we epicly failed, if I might say so myself. It wasn't too terrible until "Sleigh Ride," but it was such a poor ending that Mr. James had us repeat the final measure once the band had finished so that the sections could actually end together (the whip crack was delayed and this screwed the entire band up). "An American Elegy" went better than I expected; Banks climed up to the balcony to deliver his solo, and he and the band stayed together when the rest of the woodwinds came back in for the second half of his solo. Overall, it was a fun night. Everyone, even Mr. James, laughed at the end of "Sleigh Ride" because it was such a failure.
This week has been fairly eventful; we've finished reading Fahrenheit 451 in English, and now we've moved to The Odyssey, which is proving to be an interesting read. We also switched Seminar in the Arts classes today; I've just left Mr. Hurst's visual arts class and I am now in Dance and Kinesthetic movement; next, we'll have Mr. Freedman for Cultural Languages, and finally, what I've looked forward to most, Ms. Fitzgerald's Creative Writing Class.
Speaking of creative writing, Reynolds' literary magazine finally got published, and of the selection of poems that I sent in, the staff chose the one entitled "Waking Up."
On Saturday, the marching band will participate in its last organized event for the year, the Christmas Parade, which will run the same course as the Veteran's Day parade a few weeks ago. We will march the same short route down Fourth Street. Also on Saturday, we will vote on Superlatives (I'm assuming that it's for the yearbook).
Last in my list of updates, I will mention the party that I plan to attend tomorrow at Alexis's house; all that I can say for this event is that it will probably be quite amazing, and I look forward to seeing some of my old Hanes friends there.
Now, for the tigers; a pair of these vicious creatures played a major role in one of the dreams that I had earlier this week when I was at my mom's house. I reasoned with myself that I likely had tiger-related dreams because of my recent decision to re-read the great modern classic, Life of Pi, which is a beautiful book; if you ever choose to read it, disregard the back cover's description of the book, as it does not do it justice. Rather, believe the preface of the book which predicts that the story will make you "believe in God." I came away from the book with my mind changed about several things, God being one of many.
Anyways, I digress: now to the dream. In this dream, I was living with my mother because my father decided that he wanted to invest in a pair of pet tigers to keep in the house. My mother insisted that she didn't want me living in a house with tigers, yet my dad purchased them anyway. So, I went to live at my mom's house, and a few weeks after the incident, my father called us, inviting us to some sort of sporting event. We drove over to a stadium-type place, climbing up into the stands until we saw my dad, waving from one of the top rows (I'm not sure what kind of sporting event we were watching, or why my dad wanted to meet there in the first place). We mounted the last few steps and took seats on either side of him. Ravenous, I busied myself with a bucket of popcorn that my dad had purchased. Meanwhile, my mom straightened her coat, turning to face my dad.
"How're the tigers?" she asked casually, no longer angry about the incident (which is weird because my mother is known to hold a grudge for a long time).
My dad beamed with pride. "They're great," he said happily, "They seem to be settling in just fine. We have had one tiny problem, though; you see, when they try to go down the stairs, their claws sink through the wood and create holes in the staircase. So I need to get Jason to come over at some point and fix the holes. And also, they're afraid to go out in the hallway at night because their claws tear through the wood (as I've said) and one night, they fell through a particularly weathered spot, all the way to the basement. So they don't like going outside of their room at night."
I stopped paying attention to my father's monologue as two blond boys who might have been twins mounted the stairs and approached my dad, engaging him in their own conversation.
My dad seemed to know them quite well, and this plus the fact that I didn't personally know them made me sort of irritated in the dream, so I stood up and walked down the stairs with the intention of calling Shannon on my cell phone. It was about here that I woke up.

To Document the Encounter of an Interesting Character

So, the main reason that I came on here is to document the encounter of an interesting man that we met at the Olive Garden tonight; he was our waiter, and the first thing that struck me was that he looked a lot like Mike Aiken from drumline, except taller, and a little different. He was super-skinny with glasses and lots of flair on the collar of his work attire.
His voice had a Southern sort of slur in it; and this was the reason for tonight's instance of my renewal of my faith in humanity.
We were sitting around, full, when he approached our table to box our leftover food.
"Will you guys be having any dessert tonight?" he asked. "Maybe some coffee cake, or tirami siu (I might have just murdered the spelling of that)?" But the point is, he said 'tirami siu' in a way that brought to mind old Southern women, rocking in a rocking chair on a large plantation-style porch. And this renewed my faith in humanity, yes.
My father and grandfather were discussing the tip, and I said, "He deserves 18% just for the way that he said 'tirami siu.'" They ended up tipping at least 20%, though I don't think that his pronunciation figured into the amount that they decided on. He was a super-nice guy (though I don't remember his name), and I hope that any of my readers who frequent the Olive Garden have him in the future (and if he doesn't mention it during the meal, ask him to name a list of possible dessert items so that your faith in humanity can be renewed also).
We had an absorbing conversation during the meal that involved my dad's Sunday school teacher, of whom he is rather in awe. Apparently his lectures go beyond the boundaries of conventional Christianity and touch on the controversial things that might offend some of closed minds. My dad said that the lectures focused on the "Sermon on the Mount" and the old and new covenants, mainly the interpretation of the second one. My dad's Sunday school teacher took the second covenant to mean that our purpose in life is to bring "Godliness," or heaven, to Earth, to make a "New Jerusalem" with the tools that we are given; and that tool, being the most vital part of the formula, is Love. Not through judgment, but through mercy and love of our brothers shall we bring about an ideal society. In the middle of this conversation, I had a mind to ask, "Well, what about the people who already died? If this 'New Jerusalem' is indeed going to come to pass in our tangible Earth, then how will the deceased be able to take part in it?" to which he responded, "I believe that they've already played their part in God's plan." I sat on this as an earlier point was being debated back and forth, and came to the conclusion that my dad most likely was not hinting at the possibility that people, just because of the misfortune of being born too soon, would not be able to go to "Heaven." The way he said it provoked me to believe that he was hinting at something deeper, something, perhaps, that he was afraid the others wouldn't approve of, being of conventional Christian beliefs. So I asked him, trying to be just as discreet, "So, are you implying that the deceased (who have played their part in God's plan) possess a sort of energy that allowed them to bring the Earth that much closer to its intended state, and once their body perishes, that energy (or soul) moves on to occupy a new vessel?" My dad nodded and tried to be humble, "Well, I'm not saying that that's the way it is; that's just what I believe." Despite that being his own belief, I sat and thought on his proposal for a while; I'd already known that my dad believed in a reincarnation of sorts, and as I grow older and observe the various cycles around me (such as the water cycle, cycle of seasons, even in the behavior of certain animals), this seems to make more sense; it would simply be another cycle in nature, a cycle of energy, which exists already: no energy is created or destroyed (or at least, I think that's how the law goes, Law of Conservation of Energy, or something like that). So anyways, I apologize for even including this long rant on here; it's more for my future self to ponder than for anyone else. Disregard it if its content offends you.
Anyways, today was eventful in other ways as well: my dad had his examination done today; he wasn't allowed to eat anything except for jello yesterday, hence our celebration at the Olive Garden tonight. Also, apparently my short story, entitled "Eleanor," will get a good grade from Ms. Jones, because I shared it today and she seemed to like it all right. Our band concert is on Thursday, and our Christmas parade is on Saturday. My grandparents, sadly, will be leaving tomorrow, but their stay here has been of a longer length than usual and eventful.
I also think that I'll briefly mention a stressful dream that I had a few nights ago. It was the end of a school day, and Saoirse and I were walking to where the landing would be in waking life, across from the auditorium at the main building. Instead of the landing, there was this huge enclosed space that reminded me of a greenhouse, though the glass was clear. There were a pair of double doors where the landing would be, and one could see the parking lots beyond the glass. When Saoirse and I arrived in this enclosed area, she immediately looked up to the top of the colossal structure.
"What're you looking for?" I asked.
"Oh, my mom's painting the wall up there today." she said distractedly; she finally spotted her mom, who was wearing paint-streaked jeans and a tank top; she stood on the roof several feet above us, and she waved jovially. We returned the wave and sat down against the wall, looking out toward the glass.
Through some doors on our left emerged what must have been about half of the school population, led by an un-named person in a certain orange shirt, who made a knot in the depths of my stomach tighten. I sat there, tense, trying to inspire myself to take some sort of action; the people, meanwhile, took seats all along the wall in chattering groups, also waiting for something. Un-named person scurried around as if he was in a desperate search for a lost object. I stood up to speak to him, but he rushed past and out through the double-glass doors as though he was leaving the school grounds completely. I sat down, deflated, until he rushed back in and stood near the doors, beckoning to the rest of the school population with his hand. They stood together, one great mass, and marched toward the door, which he held open. He tried to reach to hold the other door open as well, and so I jumped at the chance to help. I walked up and held the other door, attempting to converse with him through the mobs of people who were walking past, with whom he was engaged in conversation. Then, as the last people filed through, he followed quickly without a word or glance in my direction, and I waved a wave that the back of his head didn't see. Then a woman appeared who was his mother in the dream, though I'm fairly certain that she looks different in waking life, and she stood on the sidewalk in front of the glass door which I still held open, looking at me sadly. She said something unimportant which I forget now; the only part I remember from the dream after this was noticing a piece of dropped paper on the ground near the other door which was held open by the un-named person. I picked up this paper and read, in that handwriting, "Dinner party plans: gather everyone invited near the landing, wait for the cars to drive us there. . ." and then I didn't read on. Keep in mind that the group going was about as large as half the school's population. It was about here that I woke up.

More Dreams

Last night, I had two rather odd dreams that I will report to you this morning. First, let me say that Thanksgiving was fabulous; my grandparents came up from Atlanta and my grandmother made a nice, traditional turkey dinner for the occasion. They're going to stay until Monday, and we've had a great time with them so far, playing cards, playing tennis, going for walks in the neighborhood, and playing the piano. My grandfather gave me one of my Christmas presents early, which consisted of this awesome book of piano sheet music from all the different eras: Baroque, Classical, Romantic, and Contemporary. It has this piece that I've been meaning to try to learn ever since I saw it on Youtube: Mozart's second movement of the K.545 Sonata in C.
So, to the dreams: the first one was rather tame compared to the following dream. In this initial dream, my mother and I were both in the Winston-Salem Symphony. She played the timpani and I played all of the mallet instruments (xylophones, vibraphones, etc.). We had rehearsals every day, and we would all meet in the Reynolds parking lot outside of the arts building to be shepherded over to some practice hall in activity buses. My band director, for whatever reason, would take attendance and drive one of the buses over to the building. On the night of a performance, my mom approached me in the parking lot and said, "I've forgotten my music. Can I trade instruments with you?" This seemed reasonable to me in the dream, because I apparently had memorized both of our parts. So I said, "All right with me. We should probably check with the director first."
Then, as we were about to board the buses, Mr. James came up to us and said, "You know, you were supposed to wear shades of brown or black for the concert tonight."
I looked down, and sure enough, I was wearing a neon green shirt and some purple pants. My mom was appropriately dressed, however. As the buses pulled into the parking lot, I said, "Tell them to wait just a second!" before running frantically to the door of the arts building. After jiggling the knob for a moment, I pulled the door open and dashed across the hall to the band room. My backpack was on the floor, and I rummaged in it for some black or brown clothes. I heard the engine start outside, and tore back to the buses clutching a black, collared shirt from my Hanes days and a pair of tight, brown corduroy pants that I have never owned in my waking life.
I got onto the bus just in time, and I don't remember what happened during the trip to the performing hall. I just remember that when we arrived, I was faced with the prospect of confronting the symphony director about a possible switch of instruments before the concert that night. I was disappointed to find him in a bad mood. As we stepped down from the buses, the sun was setting and we could just barely make him out at the far end of the parking lot, pacing back and forth in his concert outfit. One of the assistant conductors seemed to be trying to console him, but he waved them off after a few seconds. I was unsure of how to approach him. People were muttering around us, gossiping about the possible reasons for the director's displeasure. My mother eventually tugged me over to where he stood on the edge of the parking lot to inquire about our situation.
"Excuse me, Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but -" and then he looked over and his eyes were red, as though he had cried. I searched for words of comfort, found none, was nudged by my mother to continue. But before I did continue, I woke up to find that I had been sleeping for several hours with my neck in the wrong position with the result of severe pain in the right side of my neck as I turned over and attempted to go back to sleep.
I did, eventually, only to find myself in an equally strange, deeply disturbing dream. In this dream, I was at my mother's house, sitting on a couch in the front room (the couch was placed where the piano would be in real life). We were in the right part of the front room, and the left part was no longer a living room as it is in waking life: it was closed off, with a door, and it was a bedroom.
My mother and I were sitting on this couch, anxious for one reason or another. In the next, closed off room, there was a dog laying in the bed, deeply ill (I'm not sure which dog it was, or if it even was one of our dogs). We sat there as though we were waiting for some action, action which came to pass in the next minute. Wesley came walking through the hallway silently. He paused at the door to the bedroom before entering and closing the door behind him. A few moments later, we heard the crack of a gunshot, as though he had euthanized the ill dog, and perhaps this was what we had intended to do in the first place. My mother and I continued to sit on the couch, and Wesley exited the room, clutching a gun that he had not possessed when entering the room. He walked back down the hallway from whence he came, and left the dream completely from that moment on. My mother then stood up, leading the way to the open door of the bedroom. We walked through the door, perhaps with the intent of cleaning up the mess on the bed. We stopped in our tracks as we entered; there, on the bed, was not a dog, but a human being. The child on the bed was not identifiable, partially because it was unknown to us and partially because of its current, dead condition. I was shocked into tears, and I knelt on the floor beside the bed, hoping that I had been seeing things, that the child was still, in reality, the ill dog which had been put out of its misery. I was going to stand up to confirm this hope when I woke up for the second and final time. Disturbing dream? Yes.

The Defeat of the Undefeated

Tonight was the fateful playoff game, Reynolds vs. Tabor, the game which put us out of the running to win the state championship; this was ironic because we beat Tabor by quite a bit (if I remember correctly) earlier in the season. We lost 22-26; we were very close to making a last touchdown which, like at the West game, would have led us to an amazing victory. However, the ball was intercepted, and the game ended with Tabor students pouring onto the field.
We did get to play our half-time show tonight, which was nice; my dad and Daniel showed up to watch. Banks did an odd thing just before the second quarter ended which I shall remember, for whatever reason, for a long time, just as I still remember the smallest gesture that Peter and Genevieve made in fifth grade. It was the day of the Fairy Tale Ball, and when Taylor and I stepped forward into the middle of the gymnasium floor, I heard my name whispered; I looked over to see Peter and Genevieve sitting together on the floor against the wall with the rest of Mr. Esstmen's class. Genevieve said, "Good luck," and Peter gave a quick thumbs-up.
But anyways, I digress. There was about a minute left in the second quarter; I was standing just inside the fence, next to Ol' Bessie (the xylophone). Mr. James, on the other side of the fence, gave Banks the order to get the band assembled near the touchdown area. The band filed in, Banks near the middle, wearing his white drum major uniform. He passed me but then doubled back and held out his pinky finger. Uncertain of how I was supposed to respond, I took hold of it with my own pinky finger, and there was a solemn moment before he went to direct the rest of the band. Nothing was said and shortly after this a touchdown was made, putting us ahead of Tabor (alas, for only a short time).
Then we rolled everything to its respective place and performed the half-time show; my dad stood just on the far side of the fence and periodically yelled things like, "That's my baby!" and "You rock, Hon!" Afterwards he asked me if he embarrassed me. I told him, "No," to which he responded, "Well, I guess I wasn't yelling loud enough, then."
In the third quarter, we did a track show; I got to borrow Alex's second bass and it was fairly awesome.
On the bus on the way back, we sang our Alma Mater as usual, the words of which I will include in this post so that I don't forget them: "Amid the pines she proudly stands, to her our voices rise. We always shall love her, dear old Reynolds High. Our school of great tradition gives us all ambition; Alma Mater, Alma Mater, hail our Alma Mater!" We also exchanged jokes. Also, random unrelated news: today was kick a ginger/hug an Indian day. Before we all left the band room to go our separate ways, we exchanged hugs. A lot more people said that they would probably be at the movies tomorrow, most likely because they view it as a "farewell-to-marching-band" sort of thing. Shannon will also attend this event, bringing with her Charles, her new boyfriend, and his twin brother John. It will be quite the event.
In any case, this is all the news that I have to report tonight.

What a Day

So, today was pretty awesome, for several reasons. First of all, on the way to my dad's house from school, I ran into my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. McNatt, and she remembered who I was. I was walking with my iPod on, down Hawthorne Road, and I looked behind me and caught sight of a jogger on the opposite side of the street. After a few seconds, I decided to start singing ("My Girls" by Animal Collective). Then I was shocked and embarrassed when the jogger pulled up along side of me and spoke.
After I realized that it was Mrs. McNatt, she gave me a hug and asked me how I was. I told her that I really liked high school and that I had picked up my grades since elementary school. Then she asked me about my writing, and I had the chance to tell her that it was because of her instruction that I started to write poetry in the first place; we read this book in her class, called Out of the Dust, which was sort of like a Grapes of Wrath for a younger audience. The other thing that set it apart from Steinback was that it was written completely in verse. While we were reading this book, we were given an assignment to write a poem about something that makes us dance (I chose to write about when my relatives visit). From then on, I continued to write and love poetry.
After that, she asked me if I was still friends with Elizabeth and Sofia; I told her that we had grown apart in middle school, but that I was still close friends with Shannon. She asked me what I wanted to do when I left school, and I mentioned my aspiration to do something medical, whether it be something to do with surgery or psychology. She advised me to go to Carolina, where she said that two of her kids had graduated since I had been in fifth grade. Soon, we were at the place where I had to cross Hawthorne, and so I ended the conversation with a joke that my dad and I have had since my days of being constantly late in elementary school: "The good thing about living so close is that I can walk, and not be late to class." Then she laughed and jogged on.
Yesterday was pretty great as well. Saoirshe walked home with me after school and hung out until about 6:30. We worked on our Moravian Star math project (she got her base finished and I created one stellation). I had been in a pretty black mood all day (it might have been the weather; the sky was gloomy and it was wet and dull outside), but it was nice to be able to converse with a friend outside of the school setting. My dad made a slow-cooked pork roast for dinner, which actually came out pretty awesome. He told me to eat quickly, because Mark had invited us to go to the Wake Forest game that night. They were playing High Point University.
We arrived in the middle of halftime. By the end of the game, we had gained thirty more points and we beat High Point at about 79-56 or something like that. The best part of the game was the High Point team's coach. He was very expressive with his hands; it seemed that after every play, whether High Point scored or Wake scored or a foul was made, he clapped his hands furiously in his team's direction. Sometimes he simply gestured aggressively in the air, but he mostly clapped. I told my dad at the end of the game that High Point probably didn't win because he wasn't clapping loud enough.
I've been having weird dreams this week. I had none that I can remember last night, but the night before, I had a memorable one: I was traveling with a group of my friends to meet my parental in-laws for the first time (I was the same age in the dream, but somehow I was married). My husband was among the group that I traveled with, and we flew over (to where his parents lived) on an airplane. The part of the dream that I remember most was entering and walking around my parental in-laws' house. It was big and spacious and, like my grandparents' apartment in Atlanta, decorated mainly in reds and browns. There was a glossy piano in the middle of the floor of the living room, and a den-type room that reminded me of my grandmother's family room in Florida. Every now and then, the dream would fade out into another, in which I was myself in a movie theater beside the person who was my husband in the other dream; we were not married in this second dream. It was awkward, because it was one of those first-date-esque scenarios where you're not sure if you should hold the other person's hand. Eventually, when I leaned over to say some cheesy line like, "My hand is cold," he turned his face and kissed me. I was stunned, and then the dream changed back into the parental in-law dream. Now, my group traveled outside to an open area near the house where several small booths were set up around the perimeter of some picnic tables. My husband informed me that his parents owned a very successful outdoor restaurant; as he said this, flocks of people from all over gathered at the booths, grabbed plates of food, and settled at the various tables on the grass. As we walked to a booth to get a plate of spaghetti, I woke up.
If that dream was weird, then the one before it was even weirder. In this dream, my dad and I lived back in the old house on Cavalier Drive, though I still went to Reynolds High School. It was about 5:00 at night and I had to get to the school for a late marching band rehearsal. My dad said that he couldn't leave the house because he had things to do. "Take the car," he said, throwing the keys at me.
At first, I was sort of pleased. I was not the proper age in the dream to be driving, but I was still sort of excited (part of me seemed to realize that I was asleep, and that I would probably drive with great ease as a result). My excitement changed into terror as I climbed into the car, backed out of the drive, and started to travel up the hill. It seemed that there were five or six pedals on the floor, and my foot seemed to be stuck on the accelerator, because the car kept gaining speed. I wrenched my foot from the floor and searched for the brake as the car nearly flew over the crest of the hill, banging into a curb as it zoomed down the street. I could not find the brake; then I looked down and noticed that I had somehow gotten into fifth gear. I tried to change this as I took a right turn to avoid crashing into a truck. I was yanking at the stick-shift as the car flew across Country Club Road, narrowly sliding between two cars going in opposite directions. Then, with a heart-stopping crash, the car slammed into another car that was sitting in the parking lot of the gas station beside my mother's house. As I felt the airbags hit my chest with explosive force, I strained my eyes to see into the other car. I saw movement, and the faint outline of a baby's car-seat in the backseat of the car. I woke up then.
Anyway, I had dreamless sleep last night and woke up feeling rested today.

Reynolds vs. Reagan and Veterans Day Parade

This past Friday was the day of the Reynolds vs. Reagan game and yes, we are still undefeated - and yes, it was a stomping just as I had originally predicted. If I'm correct, I think that the final score was 33-9; we Reynolds students weren't as passionate about this win as we were about our triumph over West, and we only played our Fight Song once as opposed to the five times that we played it at the end of the West game.


That Friday was an interesting and fabulous day for many reasons. It was the day of our Fall Fest, so all of our classes were shortened by ten minutes, and at the end of seventh period, we were released onto the campus to visit the various booths that had been set up. It was very much like the fair in that all of the sold merchandise was overpriced, and I ended up getting birthday cake flavored ice cream for a total of nearly-worth-it $3.00. Saoirshe and I mainly wandered around and tried to find places where there weren't so many people; among others we ran into Elizabeth and Elisabeth, who kept informing us of the craziness of one booth down the hill which was becoming immensely popular; one paid a certain amount of money at the booth to have their friend incarcerated in a tiny dog gate which was erected beside the booth; in order for the incarcerated friend to escape "jail," there had to be an offering of money equal to the amount spent to put them in the "jail." Sadly, this was probably the booth which raised the most money.


When the 3:40 bell rang to signal the end of the day, I said goodbye to Saoirshe and Katelyn and hurried up to the arts building for marching band practice. People were still scattered around campus, and so the band room was fairly empty when I got there.


While we waited for people to arrive, Mitch and Alleyah decided to use the temple blocks for a word association game which was much like the famed "Concentration," except that you had to respond directly to the last word said. Among those who participated were Mitch and Alleyah (obviously), myself, Virginia, Laura, and a few dancing boot girls who wandered in. This amusing game lasted for about ten minutes before Mr. James, who was pushing chairs around, said "O.K. No more word association."


People gradually began to filter in, and we ran "America the Beautiful," and "The Star-Spangled Banner" before we took the former outside to march it around the auditorium. The last latecomers scrambled into their respective places in line as we marched.


After we were done rehearsing, we were instructed to load our instruments onto the trailer before the food arrived. We did this and still had time to wander around before the ordered pizza was set up in the hallway outside of the band room. While we waited, we mostly hung around outside, some of us playing football down by the main building and others just mingling near the bleachers. I joined a group of people that included Carrie and Virginia who were constructing a leafpile on the grass near the arts building; we kicked the leaves into the center until the pile was about waist high. Then, we lined up beside it, preparing to jump in, when suddenly Reid came out of nowhere and ran through it. Then, Virginia laid down in the leaf pile and people began to cover her with the scattered leaves. Someone took a picture of her, and then it was decided that it would be hilarious to have Virginia jump out at Yanal from the leaf pile.

Carrie and I ran around to the side of the building, where Yanal, Vipul, and Mike were messing around with the temple blocks; Yanal refused to accompany us around the building, but we persuaded Vipul to come in his place. We told him to admire the leaf pile, and he made to jump in it as Virginia simultaneously emerged. Thankfully, Virginia wasn't crushed, and it was quite amusing. Shortly after this, the pizza arrived, we ate (discussing various songs that we had learned in Spanish class while we waited in line), and then we boarded the buses to go to the game.

The game was at home. One of the more eventful parts of the night happened during halftime, when a group of us were standing together near the drum-line's section. George Bailey, a former student, had come to visit and was there also. I arrived as jokes were being exchanged, including the infamous humpback whale joke, the punch-line of which is a long, drawn-out noise that is supposed to resemble the noise that a humpback whale makes (Carrie had not heard this joke yet).

I then shared the "Supplies!" joke which was received poorly by all except for Vipul, who seemed to think it was funny; I then discovered that he had never heard the "Interrupting Cow" joke. I changed that, and he spent the rest of the night telling it to people who obviously already knew. It was rather amusing.
So, the next day was the parade; our call time was 8:30, far too early for a Saturday, might I add. We marched down a stretch of Fourth Street before turning to the right down some street a little past Cherry. At the bottom of the hill, there was a bridge, under which our buses waited. I drew one major conclusion from this parade experience, and it was this: It is more fun to watch people watching a parade (as you're marching in the parade) than it is to watch a parade. On that note, I'll sign off.

Lord of the Rings Dream and Other News

I'll speak of the dream first, before I lose even more memory of it. I dreamt that I somehow came into possession of this golden sword, which for some reason stood in the place of the "one ring to rule them all." I did not know this at first; I think that I bought this sword somewhere on a whim, and was wondering why it was so cheap as I walked home holding it.
Well, I returned to the house that I seemed to be sharing with my parents and several other people, including a few members of the marching band and some of my parents' friends/coworkers. In any case, there were lots of people who seemed to form my fellowship of sorts.
When I returned to the house, I was immediately scolded by my dad for being in possession of this sword.
"Please tell me you didn't buy that." he said as I walked up onto the porch (the house was completely different from my father's or my mother's house).
Assuming that he was worried about the price, I said, "Well, it was only $x -"
He waved his hand impatiently, "That's not the point." he snapped. "The point is that we can't stay here now because the Nazgul will be pursuing us."
My dream self didn't seem to grasp this, so I said, "Well, can't I return it, then?"
"No. They wouldn't take it back and that's why it cost so little." he said (seeing as the sword didn't seem to be all that great besides the fact that it was being pursued by wraiths, I don't get why we couldn't have just left the sword somewhere, but that didn't seem like an option in the dream).
"Come on," he gestured inside, "Let's go in and figure out where we're going to go tonight."
Inside the house, my mother called everyone to gather around the dining room table; I placed the sword in the center of the table and there was a collective gasp from all of those present.
Mr. James, who happened to be there along with Mr. Talbert, pulled a map from his jacket pocked and spread it over part of the table. This map was weird because it featured both cities from North Carolina and also places in Middle Earth.
"So here's Mordor, and that's where the Nazgul will be coming from," Mr. James pointed out Mordor on the map, which seemed to occupy a great part of Virginia. He moved his finger almost due south through three cities before his finger landed on Winston-Salem. "Tonight the Nazgul (who, for those of you who aren't Lord of the Rings nerds, are the 9 dead kings who sort of look like dementors in the movies) will travel South through these cities: Bree, Kernersville, and Bywater, and will be upon us by midnight. They will assume that we are here because they will be drawn to the power of the sword, so we must move before nightfall."
My Aunt Karen suggested that it would be ideal for us to move to the west, into the mountains and toward the western border of North Carolina. "That way," she said, "we can continue North as they're pursuing us, and rid ourselves of the sword in the fires of Mount Doom."
Everyone seemed to agree that it was a good plan, and so we all dispersed to gather necessities to take with us.
Once this had been done, we met as a group on the sidewalk in front of the house; there were two charter buses waiting for us, the kind that we use for traveling marching band events. Mr. James drove one bus and my dad's friend Daniel drove the other. I forget which bus I was on, but I remember feeling extremely anxious from that point onward, despite the fact that we were riding on buses and the Nazgul were riding on horses.
I woke up right about when we reached the house that we would be staying in that night.
The only other piece of news that I have is that I am now an official cell phone owner. Yay-hooray for Robyn keeping up with the times!

West vs. Reynolds

This past Friday, the two undefeated teams participated in the game that was called the WXII 12 game of the week; and what a game it was.
We decided that we were not going to do our halftime show for this game, so we left Charles Voltaire and Ol' Bessie behind. Also, the drum line was missing Joe and David, so Vipul took the quads and Izzie and I shared the third bass (she took it for the first half and I took it for the last half). Izzie did not take the cymbals, saying that she did not know where they were.
We arrived early at the game and were given time to purchase dinner, since it wasn't provided at the school. Then, the game began. Nobody scored in the first quarter, and Reynolds could tell from the start that it would be a difficult game, owing to the fact that the referees were extremely biased, calling us on exaggerated offenses like "delay of game" and other such things. Also, the the tension between the two sides of the stadium began to mount from the moment we marched in; when the drumline marched in, Vipul was having issues with the quads and someone allegedly shouted, "Go ahead and cry!" or something like that.
Anyways, some of us lost hope in the second quarter when West gained three points, and we were disappointed when, by halftime, they had gained a total of nine points.
During halftime, our dancers and West's dancers got together and performed the dance from "Thriller," which was sort of interesting to watch.
However, everything changed in the fourth and final quarter. With five minutes to go, Reynolds pulled up alongside West, scoring seven points. West was in possession until the last minute of the game, when we were making advances across the field toward our touch-down area (we were struggling from one set of downs to the next, hindered by a guy from West who kept blocking all of our passes). Finally, in the last thirty-six seconds of the game, one of our guys broke through the defenses and scored the touch-down that won us the game. Mr. James had us play our Fight Song five times in a row before our alma mater. The rowdies all rushed onto the field to congratulate our players and we left the stadium at the height of glory.

"Where the Wild Things Are" Review

Well, as it turned out, I did get to go see this movie the other day. Of the drumline, Joe and David showed up, as well as some other random people from color-guard/marching band.

The film was really well done; this cannot be denied. It had striking graphics and some of the filming perspectives made it simply beautiful - and it had a cool soundtrack. It was filmed in a way that would appeal to an artsy college generation that has an appreciation for indie films - not particularly the generation of little kids that it was intended for.

Also, the beginning scenes where Max is living in the real world were extremely realistic; the loneliness of childhood strikes you as you watch him try to engage first his sister, then his mother, in his childish activities to no avail. Again, these scenes in particular are filmed in an artsy sort of way that struck me immediately, almost like they were trying to give the impression of filming a documentary, the way one scene slid into the next.

The next thing that struck me about the film was its deeper interpretation of Max's reasons for his "escape" into the land of the wild things. A pivotal scene in the movie that can almost be overlooked takes place in Max's science classroom, where the teacher matter-of-factly informs the small children about how the sun will eventually die, expand, and swallow the world as they know it. Here, I thought, "You stupid science teacher. Why did you just tell the 7-and-8-year-olds about the sun dying?" And also, I thought of all of the four-and-five-year-olds in the rows in front of me, tugging at the sleeves of their parents and asking, "Mommy, is it true that the sun is going to die?" This theme of death is repeated a few times in the movie - one of the more important moments being when Max is conversing with one of the wild things, Carol. He asks Carol, "Did you know that the sun was going to die?" to which Carol responds first with shock, before shaking his head and saying, "But you're the king, and I'm big. So why should we worry about something so little as the sun?" Which I thought was a clever way to say, "Why worry about death or the end of the world when it seems so far away?" It was a clever way to show the denial that people are in.

The other major theme of this movie was loneliness, which appeared in Max's childhood and the love dilemmna between two of the other main characters, Carol and KJ. The latter conflict is never resolved, and Max leaves the island with the arguments between the beasts still intact and - again - unresolved.

So overall, it seemed like they were trying to convey the message that once you leave childhood behind and discover the horrors of the world you were sheltered from, it only complicates things to attempt to retreat back into the shelter of childhood; you'll only find the same complications manifested there, as if they had existed all along.

Marching Band Competition Cancelled

Yes: the competition was cancelled today on account of the rain, and I am sitting in front of the computer, wet, right now with other news of importance to recount. Thankfully I didn't have to walk all the way back in the rain because I ran into Laura and her brother, who were driving to the school. I told them that the competition was cancelled, and they gave me a ride back to the house.
First of all, it's very likely that a whole bunch of marching band people will be getting together to go watch "Where the Wild Things Are" today, and I hope that I might be able to join them.
Also, being the dork that I am, I hunted down a free copy of "La Dispute" sheet music from the Internet machine (by Yann Tierson, I think), music from the movie "Amelie." I have sent this music to myself to print out at a later date, and I am super-excited about learning it.
Last night we had our football homecoming game, which was really neat. One of the girls from marching band, Kayla, was running for homecoming queen; however, she didn't win and was triumphed over by a girl named Comfort and her escort. Because of the event, we all got free food and we arrived at the stadium about an hour early for a sort of pre-game party under the sunset, which was really pretty.
Also, the xylophone's near-death experience on it's way into the stadium inspired me to think of a name for it and the vibraphone. Laura, who was helping me roll it in, and I decided that it should be christened Ol' Bessie, but the vibraphone's name was harder to determine. We decided that it should be future-esque, as the vibraphone is shiny and new, and that it should be a V-name. Laura thought that it looked male, also, and so we decided on Voltaire as a surname, with the first name of Charles. Ol' Bessie and Charles Voltaire. A lovely couple.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to play the half-time show, which sucked especially since my dad, Heather, and Hope turned out for the game. However, during the fourth quarter, Hope got to come and sit with the drumline in the top two rows of the stands.
Hope and Heather stayed the night with us, and left early this morning. I am probably going to do something constructive now like learn the first few parts of that sheet music or wake my father to ask him if we could go see "Where the Wild Things Are."

Appalachian State Marching Band Competition 10/17

Yes, on Saturday, the marching band took a trip up to Boone for a marching band competition, where we would be competing as a size 1A band, that being the smallest size. It was a pretty amazing trip, hence my documenting of it. I had just played the half-time show live for the first time at the home-vs.-tabor game the night before; my mom and dad showed up in the beginning of "Big Noise From Winnetka," and my dad reportedly was shouting "That's my baby on the bells!" the whole time. When he wondered aloud last night in the car why people had been staring at him when he was yelling this, I informed him that it was likely because I was playing a vibraphone and not a glockenspiel/bell kit. But anyways, we arrived at school the next day at 8:30 in the morning to run through the show. I was sort of irritated that morning from being tired and from the feeling that I was in the way wherever I went. There were two different buses: one for the color guard and people who wanted to stay awake and talk, and another one for people who wanted to try to get some sleep; that is the bus I chose, as did most of the drum line, and it was driven by Mr. James. I took a seat behind Laura and across from Izzie and slept for about an hour or so; when I woke up, I looked out of the window and the autumn mountain scenery was beautiful to behold. The leaves that enveloped the rising slopes of the mountains that surrounded us were yellow and swirling down from greater heights. On either side of the highway were forests unbroken but for fields of lethargic cows.
Once we arrived at the school, we took a step outside of the bus and collectively shivered. The wind chill made the 39 degrees seem ten degrees cooler, and I pulled my earmuffs from my purse as we headed in the direction of the bathrooms. On the way back, someone from the drum line (Vipul, I think) shouted, "It's snowing!" And snowing it was, though barely. Imperceptible flakes fell through the air, occasionally revealing themselves in the light. We had been prepared for the possibility of snow, but it was still really cold.
Once we had retrieved our uniforms and instruments, most of the band left to warm up (not literally, of course) in some warm-up area; Izzie and I stayed behind with the pit equipment, which was being loaded onto trailers by strong men. We followed the trailers onto the field and set up for the small audience that sat in the stands, on either side of the 50 yard line, Izzie with her timpani and me with my vibraphone and xylophone. Mr. James showed up a few minutes before Banks with the band behind him. After Banks saluted to the people in the press box to indicate that "his band was ready," Mr. James yelled from his bench, "Yay band!" really loudly. It was pretty awesome. Then we played "Sing, Sing, Sing," "Novus," and "Big Noise from Winnetka." My fingers were nearly frozen by the end of it, but something about them being frozen seemed to make playing with the mallets easier.
After performing for the judges, we all walked back to the bus, where we loaded our instruments and uniforms back onto the trailer. I grabbed my gloves from the bus and followed Ms. Reese and some other students back to the stadium where we would be watching some of the other 1a and 2a bands perform. We sat in the stands shivering for a while, me feeling colder than I could remember feeling, before I followed a group of girls to the bathroom, where we basked in the warmth until we were forced to go back out for the next band. While in the bathroom, Virginia and Laura told me about the competition last year, held in a different place; apparently it had been even colder, and the girls had taken refuge in the small, not-nearly-as-luxurious-as-Appalachian's-bathroom bathroom. After listening to this story, I walked back to my place in the stands, determined not to show that I was cold; I failed. Thankfully, not long after that, it was announced that we could go back to the bus for lunch at 3:45; we were bused over to Cici's Pizza, and we sat with our pizza, hoping that we could stay in the warmth for as long as possible. Mr James ushered us out when he estimated that the biggest bands, size 4a, would be starting to perform.
Back up in the stands, one level up from our previous location, I sat on the outside; we were all squeezed together for the most warmth, and Izzie let me use half of her blanket. Then, my left side was cold, and so I asked if I could trade seats with her; she finally agreed when I told her that she could use the whole blanket. And then I was not warm, but I was one of the happiest cold people there.
Throughout the bands' performances, I sat between Vipul and Izzie/Mitch/Izzie again as people came and went. Mr. James came through a few times, sitting in the seat in front of us. The snow also was capricious, sometimes coming down in near-flurries and sometimes not being present at all. There was always a bitter chill that made my very bones rattle as I sat, trying to warm myself under the corner of Virginia's blanket that I could pull over my right leg. Between performances, we had random discussions, one being of importance: we were talking about the songs that we had stuck in our head, and when I sang "Baby It's Cold Outside," I was informed by Virginia and Vipul that I have "a beautiful singing voice." I'm used to my dad laughing and saying, "That sounds like you're dying, Robyn," when I sing, and so that boosted my ego about 10 points or so if one can measure ego in points.
When Mitch was on my left, we were discussing half birthdays; he was saying how one of his friends had texted him, wishing him a happy half birthday when he didn't even realize its existence; I said, "Mine's in September." Vipul said his was on the fourth, and I was like, "No way, so's mine." and so I had discovered another March 4th birthday; Mitch's birthday was February 26th, I think, and so that made three Pisces people in the same place at the same time, and that is fairly fantabulous if you ask me.
So at the end, the seniors, Mr. James, and Banks went down for the awards ceremony, and we all stood up from our spots and stumbled down the stairs on numb feet for a better look over the railing; Reynolds won nothing but third and last place, but I tried to console people by saying that we were the coolest losers there, and someone else (I think it was Joe) said that the judges just didn't know how to judge. Casey called us together, there in the stands, to have a discussion about the effort we apply, and then we all put our hands in and said something like "Go Reynolds!" and met everyone at the buses.
About five minutes after we had merged onto the highway, Mr. James informed us that no matter what we scored, he thought we were awesome and would take us anywhere on a tour, and then we yelled "Yay Band!" one more time before I passed out on the seat.
My mom picked me up once we got back to the school and I fell asleep immediately when I got home, having extremely odd dreams that I prefer not to share.
On another note, I'm thinking of throwing a Halloween party for the people in marching band, because they're all pretty amazing, and it shall be at my dad's house if he approves. That would be pretty super, now that I think about it, what with our new deck and everything.

Weird Dream and October 8th 'til Now

I really meant to get on here yesterday, but I procrastinated since my family is still here; however, a dream that I had last night has basically forced me to come on and recount the events of the past few days.


October 8th, which was Thursday, was one of the most amazingly-musical days that I've have in a while. Marching band practice would last until 7:30 that night, as we were going to have a joint rehearsal with the Winston-Salem Symphony to make sure that the "1812 Overture" would be a success on Saturday (which is today, by the way). The band has finally perfected the half-time show, and so we practiced that for a while down in the lower parking lot, and I felt really confident afterward about "Big Noise From Winnetka," which is probably the most challenging piece that I have to play on the mallet instruments. Then, we retired to the band room to have a snack of donuts before we moved to the next part of our rehearsal. We had only rehearsed the Overture once before, and at a really slow pace, and so I was really worried, particularly because I have the cymbal part, which is difficult at the allegro vivace part where our band comes in (the part that everyone knows). So Vipul showed me the most efficient way to hold crash cymbals if you are a weakling, and the initial practice with Mr. James in the band room went swimmingly; he conducted us in a slow 4/4 at first, and progressed to the actual speed, still in four. This is probably what messed the trumpets up when we moved to the Auditorium, where we would rehearse with the Symphony. The conductor's name was Mr. Moody, and he had the marching band line up on either side of the audience's seats, facing the stage where he would have his back to us for most of the second part of the Overture, until turning to hold up his hand five measures before our entrance.


I'm telling you, it was the most amazing thing to be there in the flesh and watch professionals carry through that piece of music; to practice our entrance, he decided to start right before the descending strings section that I love so much, and it was just like watching the Osaka Philharmonic on Youtube, except for the fact that I was there in real life.


Then came the entrance, which I was relatively prepared for since I had watched that thing on Youtube so many times; however, the trumpets floundered, because Mr. Moody had switched to 2/4 cut time, and so they were under the impression that he was still conducting in a very slow 4/4. About ten minutes were spent instructing the trumpets, who happened to be on the percussionists' side of the room, closer to the stage (which sort of messed me up a few times because they were the only instruments I could really hear and their timing conflicted with Mr. Moody's conducting). But once these things were mended, and once I really got into playing the cymbals and was able to listen to the rest of the band and orchestra, it was a truly amazing experience; the exhilaration of playing that music with an orchestra was nearly spiritual. It was like God was in the room. Tonight we'll be rehearsing at 7:30.


Anyways, when I got home, still feeling slightly high, we played a game of cards until the doorbell rang and my dad disappeared outside; a few minutes later, he re-entered the house with Heather, who I haven't seen since June. We spoke to her for a half-hour or so; I asked her about Hope and how she's liking kindergarten, and she asked me about high school. And then I went to bed.


Of course, the next day was my grandfather's birthday, and I had a game that night to march at. I asked for practice off so that I could go to a small dinner with him (we're going to his special birthday dinner tonight, at the Village Tavern). Mr. James had told me that it was fine, and that they would take the xylophone and the vibraphone to Davie High if I decided to just meet them there. So that is what I ended up doing, meeting them at this school in the middle-of-nowhere-Mocksville. I ran into the stadium, afraid I was late, found the trailer where they were still unloading instruments, and I ran into Mr. James, who looked like he had seen a ghost. I said, "Hi, Mr. James," then, peering into the trailer, "Did you guys bring the mallet stuff?"

Mr. James had said that they forgot the mallet stuff, and so I ran back out to the parking lot to see if Grandpa was still there. I must have missed him by about two minutes, so I waited for about forty five minutes for him to drive back to pick me up.

That night I had the weird dream; I dreamt that all the marching band kids were lying on the dusty floor of the girls' gym, basking in the sunlight filtering in through the windows. I was lying close to the wall, and someone was near me, with their head resting on my left hip. Suddenly, we were called to attention by Mr. James, and so we stood up and marched out of the gym. We were walking along a dirt road that seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere. In front of us rose a hill that looked as though it arched up and became part of a mountain in the distance. The dirt road continued up this hill, but also forked shortly before the incline in the direction that we were headed. As we turned to follow this path, I noticed the sound of an engine in the distance, far up the inclined path.
A pick-up truck came barreling down the hill toward us, brown clouds of dust billowing up behind it. We all paused, unsure of how to respond; at the bottom of the hill, about 20 yards away from us, the truck skidded to a halt, and after a short moment of silence, a whole bunch of masked people came tumbling out of the cars (there were enough people squeezed in the automobile for it to qualify as a clown-car) carrying machine guns. We were under attack. It was about here that I woke up.
Last bit of news: tonight was the actual performance of "1812 Overture," and I was really nervous about it because apparently, the rehearsal time changed last night on the bus ride back from the game that I didn't get to attend. So, I arrived on the scene about ten minutes after rehearsal ended, and spent our free hour of eating pizza and socializing stressing out about the concert. When the time came to wait for our entrance, we lined up outside of the auditorium in our two lines of percussion/brass and other winds. In front of the auditorium entrance, there was a set of spotlights that beamed up into the sky, waving back and forth. As we stood there, someone said that "they should have their own batman symbol," except that instead of batman, it should be "a ninja with a violin," and that, instead of a bow, he would be clutching "a sword." So this proved to be adequate entertainment for our ten minute-or-so wait. The time that I didn't spend imagining spotlights with violin-clutching ninja symbols I spent intently examining the right ear of the person in front of me.
We finally filed in, the percussionists on the left side of the auditorium, right at the amazing descending strings section. Mr. James came to stand near the percussionists and brass so that he could direct us separately, as we would basically hold the rest of the band and orchestra together. To be truthful, our part came and went so fast that I didn't even have time to properly enjoy the amazing low brass part that generally moves me to tears. However, I was slightly panicked during the initial trumpet part, because I'm pretty certain that I slowed down, so I walked out feeling a little glum. I confessed to a few people that I felt like I had murdered a deity, because Tchaikovsky was already dead.
Thankfully, my dad and grandparents were in the loft, and so hadn't seen or heard me mess up. The rest of this night has passed uneventfully until now; and now, I think, is a good time for me to retire.

A First in Dreams

Wow, people; I have something amazing to report to you, and it is this: As of a few nights ago, I had my very first marching band dream.
Our marching band was playing out of state in the dream, though we were still at a Reynolds football game. My dad, in the dream, seemed to be a drum-major type person filling in for Banks and for Mr. James, who didn't seem to be in the dream at all. We entered the stadium to the usual drum line cadence, marching around the perimeter of the indoor field. Coming to our end of the stands, we began to climb the steps of the bleachers, me taking up the rear with this red cowbell thing and a snare stick. The percussionists climbed to the top two rows, the bass drums taking the top row and everyone else sharing the second highest row. I was on the end closest to the stairs; before sitting down, I felt the urge to search in my purse for something, and so I set the red cowbell thing down on my seat along with the snare stick. I rummaged in my purse, found what I was looking for (which, I think, was a phone, though I can't be completely sure) and zipped the purse back up, setting it beneath the seat. Then, when I straightened up to grab the instrument and sit down, I noticed that it was missing. Yanal, who plays the smallest bass drum, assisted me in my search for the cowbell and the stick, but we couldn't find it anywhere. It's sort of ironic, because Yanal has had the misfortune of dropping his bass mallets between the cracks of the bleachers himself on a few occasions. So I was extremely stressed out, because my dream self seemed to think that every piece of stand music would be worthless without the cowbell. As I was bent over, searching around, my dad came up behind me and tapped me on the back.
"Hon," he said grimly, "I'd just give up the search now; You'll just have to pay Mr. James for his cowbell."
And then I was confused, because in the past when Yanal dropped things behind the bleachers, he was usually able to get them back at the end of the game. I told my father this and he shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Robyn, but you'll just have to pay for the thing you misplaced." I wanted to argue, but felt very upset and tongue-tied, and so I sat down and said nothing. That was the end of that dream.
I had another interesting one a few days later. It was about my recent trip to Montreat as well as the cruise that we were on just this year, which made the elements of the dream very confusing. For example, at the beginning of the dream, a mixture of the kids from Montreat and the cruise were out in the middle of the ocean, riding in these boats that were very much like charter buses on the inside. The people steering the boats seemed to be our youth group leaders (I know for sure that the captain of my charter boat was Amasa, who is a youth group leader).
Each charter boat had two cloth divisions to distinguish three parts of the boat, much like a first, second, and third class on an airplane; however, it didn't really matter where you sat, so these cloth divisions (which were in the middle of the aisles and which had a beige floral pattern on them) were somewhat pointless. I remember that I had a window seat in what would have been the very back of the entire boat. I was on the left side of the aisle. The window was round, and I could see the rolling sea (which expanded until the ocean met the sky at the horizon) beyond it. There were only three of us at the very back of the boat: a girl whom I don't know by name who went to Montreat, a boy whom I met on the cruise, and myself. The boy was sitting in the seat next to me and the girl sat across the aisle, and was constantly leaning across the space to flirt with and practically paw at the boy from the cruise. He wasn't paying attention; his eyes seemed to be fixed on the headrest of the seat in front of him, but this girl was really irritating me. I was looking out of the window at the ocean, and her loud voice was interrupting my thoughts. Before I got up to move to a different seat, Amasa stuck his head around the curtain and told the girl to be quiet, for he thought that he perceived enemy ships in the water ahead. I don't know why that necessitated her silence, but oh well.
There were three total charter boats in the water, I knew, and ours was the one in front. The boat slowed and as I looked out of the window, I noticed that the one that was directly behind us was pulling slowly alongside our charter boat. Our boats came to a dead halt and we sat there silently for what seemed like an hour. I heard a clap of thunder in the sky and, all of a sudden, buckets of rain fell from a swarm of clouds that turned the sky as black as night. The boats swayed in the turbulent water as we waited for more news of enemy ships.
Just after it seemed that we couldn't wait any longer, a loud crack out in the distance sounded, and we all knew that it wasn't lightning. With a much louder BOOM, the cannon-ball landed on the ceiling of our charter boat and dented it so that it seemed to cave in on the third class section. The boy, the girl, and I stuggled underneath the steel dent and through the cloth division to get to the second class portion, where everyone seemed to be huddled. The boat rocked sideways dangerously, about to roll right over in the water; a spray of ocean water hit those of us near a window that seemed to be leaking.
"Fire the cannons!" Amasa yelled, clutching a steering wheel at the front of the boat. We were moving again, and I could see from one of the windows that we were headed for a distant island that seemed to have a large hotel-like building on it. Our boat was nearly there, traveling at full-speed, with the frightening hollow echoes of the enemy cannons trailing behind us, when I woke up to my alarm going off.

Bear Dream

I just thought I'd tell you people about my odd dream that I just remembered having this morning. It was about my dog, Bear. My mom had this house on a sort of cliff, where we were surrounded by land on three sides, but the back of our house bordered a sort of abyss. Our garage was on the second floor, and not only was it on the second floor, it faced outward onto the abyss, which made no sense whatsoever. In this garage, we kept a few flying motorcycles similar to the hovering things that resemble motorcycles in the Star Wars trilogy (yes, I know I'm a nerd). So I suppose that it wasn't that stupid having the back of the garage face the abyss as long as we were equipped with flying vehicles. But anyways, we never used these motorcycles for one reason or another, so they were just gathering dust in the second floor of this ginormous house that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, though the house itself was by no means rustic; it was a few floors high and the walls gleamed (I think that they were constructed of metal).
My mother, my father, and I were having lunch on the third floor, in a brightly-lit kitchen area over a glass table, when a rumbling noise from the floor below disrupted our conversation. Upon hurrying downstairs, I saw my Australian Shepard dog, Bear, attempting to mount a red motorcycle. He was nearly successful in driving out into the black abyss, and would have been had I not thrust myself over the cliff, clinging to the back of the motorcycle. My mother grabbed me around the waist, and with our combined strength, we were able to wrestle the motorcycle back into the garage and get Bear off of it.
This was about when I woke up.

Craziness

Today was a most interesting day, both joyful and sad on a personal level, and just weird on an external one.
My mom drove me to school this morning, and because she had to work early in the morning, I got to school a bit earlier than usual as well. I headed up to Ms. Jones's classroom, and sat with Elisabeth and Jeremy (they're always there early because their parents are teachers). We discussed the typical early morning subjects: everything, whether it made sense or not. We also got into a bit of a scuffle over a Doctor Seuss book, Fox in Socks. Elisabeth and I both admitted our dislike of the book, particularly because of the entry involving the tweedle beetle battles in a puddle in a bottle on a poodle eating noodles, while Jeremy claimed that this was his very favorite work of the innovative man that is Doctor Seuss.
And then, when the morning announcements began, Principal Pascal came onto the intercom to inform us that, "as we might already know, a freshman unexpectedly passed away on Monday night by the name of Aaron Alan." No, I didn't know that, and neither did the entire class, I'm pretty certain; we were all shocked into the moment of silence that followed this statement.
Even worse, directly following the morning announcements, I heard mutters of "suicide," and "hung himself," the latter of which may or may not be true, though a teacher confirmed the former. I just can't believe that someone so young could be that sad. To top it off, Ms. Jones said to us, "Those of you from Hanes: did you know Aaron Alan?" Some nodded, but I felt terrible that I had let some kid just exist in my presence for years without knowing him; I couldn't place him in my memory at all, and I was rather sad about this all day.
We all did the best we could to deal with our guilt; we moved through the day with as much cheer as we could muster. In Instrumental Music class, we listened to and analyzed this neat version of the "Mna Mna" song by the band Cake. In French, we learned how to understand and give directions to places. We took a quiz in math class, I spoke to the people in the office during lunch about my bus schedule, and we played the usual music in Band. I spoke to Elizabeth during Life Management Skills (we were in the gym today because Mr. Pinnix wasn't here; Elizabeth's gym class coincides with my Life Skills class); she was particularly affected by the passing of our fellow student, as he was in her class. We talked of lighter things for the latter half of the period, and both walked away feeling a little better. In dance class, we listened to a lot of songs on Mrs. Reece's iPod, so that we could decide democratically on a song to dance to in our concert. I was not particularly excited about anything that was written down for consideration, except for "Fidelity" and "Ain't No Other Man but You."
After school, I attended the second meeting of the creative writing club, which was my first. Though I finally perfected a poem today in math class which I think that I will entitle "Michael and Sylvia," I read three other poems that I was more confident with, entitled "Idle Summer Nights," "Waking Up," and "Singer," the last of which I was self-conscious about until I heard some of the other poetry and realized that it was not overly mopey. All the people there seemed really nice and they offered great criticism; I also really like Ms. Fitzgerald, who sponsors the group, I think; she seems to have an enjoyment for good literature (Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, etc.)
I left the club a little early, at 4:30, meeting my mom at the side of the building. We drove over to the hot guy movie store to pick out a movie. It was our lucky day; he was there just as I predicted yesterday. We found out that there are in fact two Johns and that the name of the other guy who works there is Jimmy. He also informed us that he felt that people were hesitant to guess his age because they didn't want to hurt his feelings, though I personally think he's being paranoid. Oh well. We rented a Hugh Grant movie called "About a Boy," which actually turned out being really cool (I think I've seen part of it on the television). I also really liked the soundtrack, which consisted mainly of songs by Badly Drawn Boy.
I worked on my math project a little bit tonight, and I received a super-encouraging email from Mr. Dodds, who tells me that he is doing his best to find a place for me to play the piano for the church. Right now, my mom seems to be heating something up in the microwave, and so I will depart.

Significance

So, today was a somewhat uneventful day. However, it is the day that Jerry Lee Lewis was born and the day that Carson McCullers died, so it does have some significance.
I woke up around 7:30 a.m. at my mother's house, had a breakfast of her awesome cheesy garlic bread, showered, and was driven to school by Wesley. It is fall now, almost officially; the wind blows just as it should, the air smells of fall, and I have come very close to catching the first leaf of fall (which is the official start of autumn).
Yesterday, we switched Seminar In the Arts classes, so now I'm in Mr. Cockman's class for instrumental music, having just left Mr. Gal's class.
After school today, I stayed for marching band; the band has finally started work on the last song in our half-time show, "Big Noise From Winnetka," which is probably the most challenging piece on the mallets, though "Novus" initially gave me the most trouble because of the sixtuplets, which are like triplets, except twice as fast. So I stayed indoors until 5:30 came, and then I went outside to meet my mom.
We drove to the humane society to turn in my volunteer form; unfortunately the main person wasn't there, so we have to wait for them to call us back before I can get my school form signed. After doing this, we drove to Best Buy so that I could buy Shannon her birthday present, an All Time Low cd. It was there, so we didn't have to go hunting elsewhere, which was nice. The guy at the counter was pretty cool; he and my mom ranted about the things that customers do at a counter that ticks them off, which was hilarious.
On the way home, we listened to Cat Stevens, A.K.A. Yusuf Islam, who (and I never say this phrase) rocks my socks. We were jamming to "Peace Train" and "18th Avenue" when we pulled up to the house.

Glass Castle School Assignment

Update and Memory: Pupil

Hello, my avid readers! I have not been a faithful blogger, and so I sign on tonight to maintain this blog which I have neglected for the past few weeks.
In truth, I've been quite occupied, what with school starting and marching band three days a week. Also, youth group meetings at my church are starting tomorrow night, so that will take another night out of my week.
However, despite such distractions, life goes on. I read and write, my mother and I take bike rides to the Moravian church down the street, I receive regular calls from Shnay-nay about the new boy that she likes at school, my dad and I play Star Wars Battlefront, and my mom and I still frequent the hot guy movie store, which we did today.
We knew for a fact that he would be there, as he told Wesley himself the other day when the latter was waiting outside of the store for my mom to buy peanut butter. When we walked in today, however, Curious George was the only employee visible; he was moving about the store, assisting some customers. We found the movie that we were going to rent ("Polar Express") and took it to the counter, assuming that Wesley had been mistaken, but just then, the famed hot guy appeared from the back room. He had done something different with his hair. We returned the movies we had, rented the new one, and left. The visit was quite uneventful.
It was very beautiful outside today, and so we went on a bike ride and took a walk around the neighborhood. We wandered down to where the dog Daphne Weisner lives, but she wasn't in her fenced area, and so we walked home; we have a suspicion that Daphne's owner keeps the dog inside of the house now so that people like us don't come to stalk her dog. I hope that this is the reason, for Daphne Weisner is old and it is possible that she might have died.
We watched the movie, had a dinner of pork chops, and my mom retired early to the bed, as she was not feeling well.
As far as my school goes, Reynolds's football team is still undefeated. I like to think that it is because our marching band provides them with the strength and vigor that they need to win! Apparently this is quite an accomplishment for them, so I might be somewhat accurate.
I am currently waiting impatiently for Borders to call my dad's home phone. About a week ago, I think, my mom and I went to Borders and ordered Illumination and Night Glare by Carson McCullers, which I was unable to find anywhere. They happened to be handing out 25% off coupons, and so we jumped on the chance to purchase the book for a cheaper price. The book itself is the author's autobiography, which remains unfinished because she died in the process of writing it. There were several biographies that were probably accurate and interesting to read, but I would rather read the story of her life (or part of it) as it was written by her. So, anyway, Borders will call us when the book has arrived, at which point we will be able to pick it up.
Now for the memory. My mom and I were in the bathroom earlier today before we went to the movie store. I was applying eyeliner when I accidentally poked myself in the eye with the pencil. Just then, I was reminded of a fear I had when I was little of having the pupil of my eye touched. The cause of this fear was a kid who I went to school with who informed me that if one is poked in the pupil, they will immediately become blind. I believed it, being a kindergartner at the time, and many kids my age made a sort of morbid game out of who could come closest to touching their pupil without actually putting their finger on it. I told my mom about this memory and she laughed. It was an odd feeling as I remembered it, because it was one of those memories that I had not thought of in a long time, and so it was almost as though I had forgotten it.

Stream-of-Consciousness. . .Swing-Nostalgia

Swing, trumpet, golden, nugget, California, movie stars, vineyards, grapes, raisins, red, wheelbarrow, poetry, Mrs. Allman (former English teacher), Kernel Kustard's, hot dog, stadium, football, stadium, bat, moon, marching band, Mr. James (current band director), cadence, shiny vibraphone, cowbell, SNL, television, feast, turkey, thanksgiving, pilgrims, Mr. Holbrook (former history teacher), notes, paper, recycle, green, environment, polar bears, Alaska, Carson McCullers, "renew my sense of horror," unrequited love, my dad, japanese steakhouse, mojo jojo, powerpuff girls, bathwater, steam, carpet, tiles, radio, dead, violence, car, driving, vacation, beach, sunset, chasm, boat, cruise, karaoke, disney, mickey mouse, ariel, hope, blocks, baby dolls, build-a-bear, fluffy, dog-bed, lancy, crate, eggs, letter, Harry Potter, magic, clean, nostalgia.

The Night Before Labor Day and Memory: Hotels

Wow - it bothers me that I haven't thought of anything very interesting to write about in a while. However, today was pretty eventful in a few ways.

Last night, I stayed at Shannon's house for a sleepover, along with Elizabeth. We watched the Japanese version of "Shutter," which was O.K., but the character that Shannon thought was hot was indeed far from it. We got to sleep around 2:00, and I had to wake up at 8:00 to get ready for church, where I would be arriving earlier than usual to play the piano for the director of the music ministries, Mr. Dodds; after hearing me, he would decide whether I would be suitable as a rehearsal accompanist for the children's choir.

My dad and I arrived just as the first traditional service was ending, and so we met Mr. Dodds and Ms. Moyer at the front of the Sanctuary. After warming up, I played a portion of the "Moonlight Sonata," what I hoped to be my trump card of sorts, and when I was asked to play something fast, I played the "Adagio Cantabile" movement of Beethoven's "Pathetique Sonata." This part of the audition went well, but then I was supposed to play the "Moonlight Sonata" at a conducted tempo. I became nervous and messed up twice, though I did make it farther in the second time; you see, I'm used to being conducted, but I'm usually holding sticks in such situations. It seems like the piano would be easier, though, as your hands are right on the instrument. But despite this rocky part of the audition, I think I might have a chance, as Mr. Dodds said that children's choir music typically doesn't have that many difficult tempo changes. Ending the hearing on that positive note, I attended Sunday school before meeting my dad back at the second traditional service. After the sermon, we left the church and ate lunch at Mr. Waffle, which is this nice little underrated restaurant near the $2 theater that, like the $2 theater, doesn't receive the credit that it deserves.

Following our lunch at Mr. Waffle, we came home, ran the perimeter of Hanes Park, and went to the YMCA. I swam while my dad lifted weights. Then, upon returning to the house, we drove to Sams, only to find that it was closed; while we were on that side of town, my dad decided that it would be a good idea to have dinner at Mario's, and so we did, bringing in a deck of cards so that we could play a round of racehorse rummy. Following dinner, we shopped at the Dollar Tree and Target before coming home.

Now, my dad is waiting for a friend of his to arrive so that they can study for the GMAT, which is a sort of test; my dad, as he waits, is currently playing his guitar on the roof.

As for the memory, it came to me randomly, just now in fact. Before I was born, my mom brought home my first pet, Shamus, who was a German Shepard/Chow-chow dog mix. A friend had informed her of his presence on Wake Forest's campus; he was a homeless dog who fed himself from the dumpsters and occasional scraps from the students on campus. His fur came out in clumps and he apparently wasn't very pretty when my mom first found him; but she fell in love with him right away and brought him home to the house that she and my dad shared with some other roommates. She fed him eggs and other things that she had discovered would make his fur grow back; slowly, it did. A year later, I was born and by this point, Shamus looked as handsome as any other dog, and not only this, he was completely devoted to my mother.

Now, with this background on my old dog, who died when I was in sixth grade, we can move to the real memory. A few years back, when I was in elementary school, my dad, mom, and I decided to go on a trip to Williamsburg, Virgina (I think; it was somewhere in Virginia). My dad insisted that we stay in the cheapest possible hotel, while my mom stubbornly insisted that Shamus come along.

We had to get creative with some of the hotels when it came to sneaking my dog inside. The cheapest ones wouldn't allow any pets, so we would have to take him through the side door, and come up with arguments against having a second or third floor room. My mom remarked one night while we were running through a hallway to our room with Shamus's leash in one hand and her suitcase in another that people were probably watching us via the security cameras and laughing.

"Light Cavalry"

This is the song that I am listening to at the moment on my computer, which we attempted to play last week in concert band; I was on the timpani for the song, and it was super-fun to play. I just decided to use it for a blog title because I did not know what else to title this blog.
Last night was my first time marching at a football game. We played Parkland and beat them about 41-20. It was pretty awesome. Every time we scored a touch-down, we played the fight song to celebrate, and we ended the successful night with our Alma Mater. The moon was full and we had a great view of it rising on the opposite side of the stadium; it was interesting to watch it climb higher in the sky, as we were there for approximately three hours or so. The sun was setting behind us, and as the moon was just breaking the horizon of the stadium, I noticed a bat flying around the raised lights above the chairs. So we sat in the stands for most of the game, waiting for either Mr. James or Banks to yell for us to play something. The snare player in the other band attempted to start a battle with Vipul, but Mr. James didn't like that sort of thing so we didn't respond.
We were happy at the end of the night, and when my mom picked me up, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in the middle of the hot-guy movie store movie that she rented (she had gone while I was marching, but it was O.K. because the elderly guy was there. She found out that the real John was Curious George, so now we don't know the elderly guy's name).
Tonight, I'm going to go over to Shannon's house to spend the night with her and Lizbit. I made an awesome cd that we will listen to, and we will be watching the Japanese version of "Shutter" with some actor named Tun in it that Nay-nay is obsessed with.
In other news, I had this really weird dream two nights ago. I dreamt that my mom, the hot guy from the movie store, and I were in a diner or something. He was totally flirting with my mom, but she was ignoring him. I kept trying to flirt with him as well, but was failing epicly, with blunders along the lines of "Do you come here often?" Then I was following him along the upper floor of some basketball court (the upper floor consisted of a track which overlooked the courts). I would try to talk to him, but he was distracted and would only respond with questions about where my mom was. It was quite odd.
Now, to end the entry, I will comment that I am now listening to a song called "Samba Reggae" by Jimmy Cliff, and it is super-cool. I suggest that you listen to it, as well as "Light Cavalry."

Yesterday: My First Game with the Marching Band?

Yesterday was supposed to be the first football game of the school year; but we got rained and lightninged out : ( We still had a great time at the rehearsal, though.

To be truthful, I was sort of dreading the game. Due to my emailing to the wrong email address to speak with the band director about when audition dates and band camp dates were (they changed band directors this year), I was unable to try out. The only open instrument in the percussion section were crash cymbals, which I am terrible with since I lack forearm strength (which you need to play the crash cymbals).

So I attended rehearsal today with a somewhat heavy heart, but once we got into rehearsing outside, playing "The Star-Spangled Banner," "Sing, Sing, Sing," and our fight song, I started to get the hang of the crash cymbals. I even held them the right way. We marched around the parking lot outside, which everyone in marching band refers to as "The Field," since when we march on it, we are simulating what it would be like to march around a football field. When Mr. James isn't directing us, this kid (who I think is a senior) named Banks takes over, and he's in charge of starting off the fight song and the drum line's cadence.
There are some moments that make an impression on you as they're happening (and I know this is random-sounding) and you realize as they're happening that you will remember them for a long time afterwards. This happened as we were marching around the parking lot; we had come to the last song we play before we exit the field, and the entire line began to turn in one spot and form a spiral as we played our fight song. As we spiraled around as a whole group, the percussionists on the outside, a strong wind stirred the leaves on the trees above us and they cascaded upon our heads like golden rain.
Before we marched around the parking lot, another upperclassman named Casey instructed those of us who missed band camp separately about how to march and what-not. Until I learned his name later that day, I simply referred to him as Mr. Instructor. So after learning to march, we met up with the rest of the band, ran through the show, and went inside around 6:30 to eat dinner; those of us who had paid for pizza stood in line for it in the hallway of the arts building. I took my brown lunchbox, got a drink from the table, and stood outside near the bleachers where most everyone was sitting. It was drizzling slightly, pretty, and overcast outside. Then, as I stood there eating my raisins and cinammon toast crunch, the rain picked up and thunder sounded. It started to pour down in buckets, so we all ran inside.
The percussionists all messed around in the back of the band room for a while with all of the instruments. I hung out mostly around the vibraphone. While we were waiting for the rain to let up, lightning flashed outside; it seemed that we might not get to play.
Then, in case there was a possibility of the rain letting up, we loaded our instruments into a Reynolds truck; we also retrieved ponchos to wear. Mine was blue, and it is important to note that it was the first poncho I have worn in my entire life.
Soon after this, we all got onto buses to see if the game was still going to be played over at the Parkland Stadium. The percussionists and Banks got a short bus all to ourselves. Once we reached the stadium, however, we discovered that the game would be postponed until today, and that we wouldn't be able to travel over there on Saturday as a group.
We drove back to the school, and my dad picked me up shortly afterwards. We went to see "Public Enemies" at the $2 Theater, which, besides being a little lengthy, was pretty good. We came home and I slept like a rock. I did have uneasy dreams about Heather and Hope. I dreamt that the latter was around eight years old, and that they were in our upstairs bathroom preparing to go somewhere; I think that my dad and I were going wherever it was that they were going as well. In the dream, it was a surprise to see them in the house, and as Hope was speaking to me about how excited she was to be going wherever it was that we were going, I couldn't help but marvel at how different she was since the last time I had seen her and heard her speak; she sounded very adult-like when she spoke. Heather moved about, packing things silently. This was the entire dream.