Oh happy day to you...
Sometimes a picture needs to be seen again, I think. The more I looked at what is commonly called a Red Sugar Maple in this picture, the more of it I really saw. If you look to the left side of the photo, I happened to have caught the sun spotlighting itself like a flashlight beam and a glow of gold in the middle. It really did look like this at that moment.
I have seen a lot of photographers enhance their photos electronically in the computer, but I prefer to let God do His work and try and capture it the way our eyes see the scene. It is elusive; sometimes you cannot capture the essence the way your eyes see it, with the camera. I must have spent an hour at different spots along the road home from West Virginia trying to capture the way the sun literally gilded the tree tops in gold and I thought I actually had captured it but when I got home and looked, the effect had been washed out by the surrounding sunlight. With the digital I have, I cannot manipulate the F-stops and timing like you can with a good old 35 millimeter single lens camera or some of the more expensive digital cameras. Once in awhile though, I get a surprise like this one where something really great is captured.
This past week, I spent four days in the heart of Missouri and it was pretty miserable without sunshine for all of those four days. I was quickly reminded why once I got out of the Midwest in the winter months, I never went back. Growing up with the bleakness was normal but once I left it, I found out how wonderful the sunshine really is and moved away for good!
Not being able to manipulate anything at all is a nice goal. Having to accept things just the way they are is hard for somebody like me who likes tidy outcomes and processes. Some things, I just can't force change to, I am the one who is required to change.
Fall and winter seasons do provide a down-time for refueling, for plants and people. Why not learn to enjoy it a little more? The extended darkness is certainly a drawback for me, November is very difficult, so this year, I am trying to remain positive and busy.
I had the good blessing of seeing one of my sisters and my mother, as well as my daughter, all together at my kitchen table on Friday. Daughter braved the boredom and came out from 'town' to spend time with the old people. Sister came from Texas to drive The Mother from Indiana to central Kentucky just to see me be a part of Frankfort, Kentucky's (Capital of Kentucky) community band.
Just having taken lessons for a year, I jumped off the porch and started running with the Big Dogs of accomplished French Horn players in July. This was the second concert that I participated in, this time with six total French horns, as well as about 70 other players.
We grew up with music in the household; three generation's worth at times. My grandfather was not only an accomplished 'by ear' pianist but at one time, had been a trombonist in John Phillips Sousa's, Sousa Band. Everyone has heard Sousa's marches and would recognize the tune of "Semper Fidelis", the official march of the United States Marine Corps and certainly, "The Stars and Stripes Forever" with its mad-hatter type piccolo line.
I am assuming that my grandfather met up with music and Sousa in the Naval Reserve Band in Illinois following World War 1. Sousa died in 1932 so Grandad must have been pretty good horn player to have qualified for the band, and, my mom said that he played several types of horns; trombone for sure, and most likely, the Sousaphone, which is like the modern-day instrument commonly called a Baritone. It has three valves like a trumpet but smaller than a Tuba. This would explain why my mother also took up the trombone in her High School days around the early to mid 1940's.
As a child, many nights my parents and their friends would gather around the old upright piano, singing Broadway show tunes of the 30's, 40's and 50's for hours. After being sent to bed, I would sneak down the steps from my second-floor bedroom, sit on a step in the curve of the stairway and rest my head on the spindles of the banister, just to hear them a little longer. Wonderful voices; not professional, but wonderful. My dad had a deeep double-bass voice, his friend, Warren Cook, sang a tremendous tenor, there were a few altos and sopranos and of course, all the kids running around with a tambourine, castanets or an odd maraca from my dad's travels. There was even an old drum set that stood 'at read' in the living room. Everybody got to play something if they wanted to.
My three elder sisters and I all had the requisite piano and band lessons, but I never played any brass instruments, always woodwinds.
Music is always age-appropriate, whatever age that you are, even if you have not played for a long time, or have never played. Adults can take lessons; older dogs can learn new tricks!
Thus, I feel pretty good about being able to keep up with seasoned veterans of horn playing, and music in general. Several in this group are retired or current instructors who never quit doing music. I took a several year-hiatus while raising children. I almost gave up as my skills are about at the High School level. My prayer still is "Lord, whatever I do here tonight, if it can be a joyful noise and not an embarrassing situation, I would be really thankful for that"! Sink or swim. I decided I would swim and keep working at it. I quickly learned that playing with a group can pull you up to the level of the group.
If you are willing to practice like crazy, allow yourself to make mistakes and sometimes, just feel good about ending at the same spot like everybody else, it feels pretty darn good to have your family and a few friends show up and clap for the group.
Mom is 87 and this was a long trip for my sister and her to make, for which I am really thankful that they did. I got to look out, scan the crowd and see my mother's face.
Now that is worth everything!
