October 2, 2018 - Tuesday
43 degrees/clouds/mist/calm winds
Pentoga Road

Once again, the fingers are flying as I prepare to depart for an early appointment in Iron Mountain then once again, substitute for the elementary PE teacher. It all works out well since Florence is on the way home from Iron Mountain. 

Monday was a good one in the life of a retired band director. Since the high school band had marched for the Homecoming festivities Friday night in the pouring rain, I walked into a room filled with uniforms draped over the chairs and music stands. We spent the time on Monday putting uniforms away and making the place look presentable. I even gave a class lesson on how to hang pants by the creases. Mom taught me well. The least I could do was pass on that knowledge.

 I noticed the band was almost finished marching for the year and the director was planning to hand out new concert band music this week, so it was a natural musical pause in playing. 

Been there/done that. Though disappointed, I completely understood.

I did conduct sectionals with various junior high musicians, group lessons, and was particularly gratified that I could recall all the fingerings for each instrument without a pause, except for one. How the devil to finger a low F sharp on the clarinet. It took a few seconds, but I was finally able to dredge it up from the depths of my memory: the thumb,123/123, and the top pinkie.

It's been a year or two.

The sixth grade band? Well, they were typical twelve year old musicians who obviously had been a bit lax in the practicing department. I started to give them the Mr. P talk, but then remembered, this wasn't my band, I was merely the substitute. Instead, I just smiled and told them they might think about taking their horns home and more importantly, getting them out of their cases and actually playing the things.

There was one class of fourth grade music who came in carrying recorders. Oh no, I wasn't going there. I signed on to substitute teach, not be tortured by fifteen squawking munchkins doing goose imitations on a bunch of cheap plastic noise makers specifically designed to ruin music teachers' lives.

I told them to put the instruments away. For the next forty minutes, we sang and danced, clapped, and sang some more. I knew I had them when they cheered after singing to Danny and the Junior's, Let's Go to the Hop with Jerry Lee Lewis's, Great Balls of Fire, sealing the deal.  

So the day ended. Rather than go to the hop, I pointed the old Blazer north and west to Pentoga Road. 

Sargie had to work late last night making it a short one for both of us. My evening was especially shortened when I made the mistake of reclining by the wood stove and closing my eyes. 

So it's another action packed day that lies ahead. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I'm enjoying the interaction with the kiddies, big and little alike. I'd also be less than honest if I didn't admit I really like being retired too. As I told Sargie, I'm falling behind on my fall time chores on Pentoga Road as there's lots to do before the big freeze arrives.

Meanwhile, this is Tuesday and there are places to go and people to see this morning. 

"... let's go to the hop, oh baby...."

After all, a man's work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road...