Seems Like Old Times

Saturday.

A jazz quartet practicing in the afternoon.

At our house.

Half of the quartet being Sean and Christian.

An indie group.

One fifth of group being Christian.

Practicing same Saturday evening.

All evening.

For hours.

Til around midnight.

At our house.

Because we have the drummer.

For both bands.

And, both the drummer and his drums live here.

And, a band will usually follow the drummer.

And his drums.

Because drums are heavy.

And cumbersome.

And a pain to haul around.

At least compared to a piccolo.

So our house is the band house once again.

Day and night.

Guess who is in heaven?

Just one little glitch in my state of nirvana: Even with all of this drumming and strumming and singing and plucking and pedal sustaining (haha, Sean), the house seems awfully quiet and empty without a certain little red head and his Deedee-summoning bell . . . .

(Miss you, Little Red. See you on Wednesday!)