When I practice, I think of so many things I want to write about, it boggles my mind. I actually think it may even interfere with a thoroughly focused practice. So I'll narrow it down. Tonight: It's meese. You got meese? We have meese.
And I did mention that the practice room is in the basement? Last night, I was reminded in my basement practice session that, as they said in that 1977 movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind, "We are not alone."
No mice sightings, just lots of evidence. Sherlock Holmes would just say, in a perfect London accent, "Duh." Please: I write about this in confidence... in the belief that I am not so special, and that I am Everyman. And as far as I can tell, Everyman has meese in their basement. But yes, it freaks me out, all the same. As do the earwigs, the pill boxes, the silverfish, the unidentified things with a million long legs, and the giant carpenter ant that I squashed with the bottom of my silver-sequined flip flop last night. (Then wiped up after, with closed, averted eyes, using an antibacterial wipe. I don't do guts well.) Everyone's basement is totally gross, right? Even those of us with semi finished ones?
So, that's what I suffer when I go down to the practice room. Oh, and the damp air and probably mold spores. If I have asthma after 100 days, please let's refer back to Day 30, shall we?
What I didn't write about last night was that I was so disgusted by the buggies in the basement (I have to speak of them like cartoon characters or I might never practice again) that I decided that it's time to Feng Shui the dungeon. That is, throw crap away. Lots of it.
So, today, emboldened and helped immensely by visiting Mother In Law Extraordinaire, I spent the afternoon in the basement making a giant yard sale pile. Giant. Remember Day 24? The cleaning night? The promise of a yard sale? Finally, I've held to a promise.
Then I went off to a splendid gig with Stage Door Canteen on the Buzzards Bay Commons. The saxophone section was stellar: Billy Thompson on lead tenor, Geoff Vidal on 2nd tenor, Roger on lead alto, Tom Bankert on second alto. Me on bari. Smokin', all of them. What fun!
And the dancers: All under three years old, and all fabulous. Make life worth living. Make music worth playing.
Came home, ate ice cream with family. Saw them all off to bed and at 11:30 went downstairs just for the ha-ta-tas but ended up also doing the technique exercises that I have yet to disclose...Woulda kept going but also thought perhaps certain particularly special family members (okay, one of them) might like to see my face before turning in for the night. Right after I finish this blog entry...
So let's get back to the yard sale. It's Sunday. Please come. We're starting early. 7-noon. At noon, I pack it in, count our earnings, take a shower, and head off to Hyannis, where I'll play with Stage Door Canteen as we open for the Boston Pops.
What a weekend!