One band, one sound: Ten years later

I have a confession to make: I will always be a band geek. Even as people now see me as a guy who works solely with sports and assume I never had anything to do with music, I miss it.

Today marks exactly 10 years since the first time I carried a drum in a field show marching band competition. We bused to Portland for a competition that we were not at all prepared for and performed pretty poorly (unlike Skyview HS from Vancouver…). Ten years later, I can’t help but reminisce.

I miss the feel of the drum harness and the sound of a crisp, clean triplet roll performed perfectly by a tight five-man snare line. I miss the band camp experiences that would make for great stories if they had not been permanently tainted by Alyson Hannigan in “American Pie.” I miss the ridiculousness of a group of drummers smashing a pumpkin prior to taking the field, eating Flintstone vitamins as a weird sort of act of camaraderie and trying not to crack up while one of the tenor players points out that the Mead drummers are holding hands and he thinks we should, too.

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If you’re going to San Francisco…

It’s amazing how strange life is sometimes. Eight days ago I wrote about how much I enjoy surprising people I care about with unexpected visits. An unwritten prompt for that post was the fact that my parents were in San Francisco at the time for a brief stop on a cruise and I’d tried to figure out a way to drive down there and surprise them.

My plans didn’t work out, and I missed the opportunity to see them in San Francisco. Or so I thought. When my mom called the next morning to tell me my dad was in the hospital, it wasn’t long before I was in my car headed to the Bay Area.

This wasn’t exactly the way I hoped it would go, but it was very exciting to get to see my parents for a couple days. I took my mom away from the hospital and we enjoyed some touristy site-seeing while dad lay in pain in a hospital bed. We’re loving people like that.

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