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.