I may have meant to suggest at some point that the holiday season could be labeled "The 30 Days of Christmas"--or, at any rate, I'd been considering it until late last year, when too much, too early, told me to go with "The Twelve Weeks of Christmas" instead.

Some chronicles, huh? Last year hardly happened--or is that this year?


Gee, thanks, Blogger--your new, improved version ate my posting again!

How pathetic. I haven't posted a thing in these Chronicles in a year [but see below]. Curiously enough, however, the last entry happens to bear the same date--I didn't consciously plan this--as today's will. And tomorrow, the 30th, our old house is finally scheduled to sell--on my late dad's birthday.

Well, there was an entry just before this one which was still in draft form. Finally returning to this blog, I saw no compelling reason not to publish it, so the last entry above actually is two back...

Half a year, half a year, half a year onward (with apologies, as necessary, to Lord Tennishoe)! That seems to be very roughly the length of some of my bigger gaps--such as the last one. If I knew I had any kind of readership out there, I'd definitely apologize. Apart from such obvious failings, I appear to have missed various details & developments along the way.

Two years ago, as documented here, I resolved to lose weight. Well, I've failed. The conveniently-located fitness shop I'd been visiting three times a week, never attained sufficient clientele, & closed by winter's end. Come autumn we were moving, & this matter had to wait.

Having remained so far behind in chronicling, I hesitate at the question of what to say here about completing half a century--most of it, of course, here in this obscure city in West Cutover/North Flyover, USA. I will note this: 50 was the age at which LOTR’s two central hobbit heroes, both atypical bachelors, found themselves plunged into their most important life’s work. On the other hand, as I recall, a gladiator who lived this long retired.


Argh! Blatantly Xmas-related ads have begun appearing on TV already. Enough of this pre-Halloween Yuletide crap! I think a consumer rebellion is in order.

Well, it's another case of blog negligence. I've ignored this Chronicle for months, but at least I've got excuses--lots of 'em. Basically they all have to do with moving's aftermath, in this instance the interval between starting our official residence at our new address (for two of the three in our household, anyway) & selling the old home. We're still emptying the house of our stuff, & it ain't easy. Going by how long some of us lived there, that's 40 years of accumulation!

Anyhow, a month ago I was invited to an event honoring Dr. Cornell. Seems the local U's making a virtual museum of its biology collections, or at least some of them, & naming the assemblage (& a single room) after him. Before leaving I finally asked him how he ended up here, & he explained that--presumably once he'd finished his degrees--he received two job offers. The other one was from a school in eastern North Dakota; & when he saw a picture of a building there, surrounded by a flat, relatively dull landscape, he knew how to decide!

His elder son, one of my closest childhood friends, also showed up. I hadn't seen him in at least 20 years. He's still a Methodist minister & married to the wife he'd evidently met in the mid-70s. I mentioned finding a high-school girlfriend of his on the Net: None other than the classmate I rediscovered a year ago. Forgot to tell him certain of the details I'd learned/suspected, but maybe that's just as well.

Meanwhile, some two weeks previously, our band kept its single commitment so far this year by performing at several downtown establishments on St. Patrick's Day. Borrowed two Canadian drummers for the occasion. Funny how my beret tam, which I'd dropped upside-down without much thought on the pool table we usually play around at the first (& perhaps most favored) venue, became a target for cash! Wonder if we'll even see more of a season than that this year.

I left out a relatively major event from late spring/early summer: a road trip to the DC area & back, occasioned by the interment in Arlington Nat. Cemetery for a paternal aunt's husband, a retired Army colonel. He'd suddenly died at home after dealing with some chronic (respiratory?) condition I may never have been quite informed about in detail. This happened in April, but the waiting list for burial at Arlington was long enough that the ceremony took place early in June. Word was it would've taken maybe another two months to go through with it except for the intervention of a well-placed friend of his.

Meanwhile, only a few days before my brother & I took off--to meet with the rest of our family at our Dulles lodgings--we'd finally sold our hometown business, which had supported us for nearly 45 years. By now only one of us still worked there, & he'd been asked to stay on. Unfortunately we don't have instant access to large amounts of money!

Yet another May development deserves separate consideration, which I intend to do next.

The band's summer season this year consisted of one appearance at the county fair--one--late in July, with one practice session the previous weekend.

Too bad I had to fumble with my pipes onstage.

Despite my decade-plus experience on the Internet, I haven't adopted the habit of regularly using search engines. Recently, though, I seem to have increased the frequency of my occasional searches, which may have been a factor in my decision to try something more impressive: Finding an interesting high-school classmate who dropped off my radar, so to speak, nearly 30 years ago. I never knew her well--but wished I had, & not in any indecent sense.

Well, I found her, & it didn't take long! Too bad our 30-year class reunion was last summer!

And now, more than a month late, I present this account from my journal:

Three years after my first St. Patrick’s Day with [the band], I observed it with the band again, this time having no reason not to. Didn’t want to cop out in the face of such a personnel shortage, & it turned out [my brother] was flying that night anyway, so he didn’t have his traditional dinner to serve then. [Our head piper, not currently "major"] had asked us to wear collared white (not dress) shirts, preferably embroidered with our logo, available at a local firm. [My sainted mother] & I began an evening by checking out likely stores, not finding what I needed till we tried Wal-Mart & got a $3.00 henley--which cost $7.00 to customize.

The occasion happened to fall on a Friday. [Our boss] kept me on one drone. Fortunately a bass drummer from Fort Frances had joined us for the evening. Unlike my previous experience, we drove around to venues in different parts of town, starting with the hospital. I don’t want to bother with too many details, but the second place we went was the Catholic church, having been invited on short notice to perform in the hall we’d visited before, now given over to a Lenten Friday fish fry. One of my HS class officers, who’s helped oversee our reunions & is probably best known for the combined county office she holds, showed up behind the counter for me to surprise her [with my status as piper!]. Decent free dinner. Later, at a popular west-side restaurant, we marched through the kitchen on the way out.

Our schedule called for two sessions at each of two Irish pubs downtown, including our “favorite.” The other place was very nearly across the street & had a little stage at the back. This seemed to concentrate sound in our unfortunate ears, but we eventually got word that our music wasn’t carrying well to the front! Back up the block at our preferred pool table [where the band plays here], I eventually pulled off an unexpected move when young Mr. Hotshot, playing his own tunes solo, included “The Battle of Waterloo,” which I’d unintentionally introduced him to by working on it from a copied score I’d acquired in a mixed bundle last(?) year; I felt like joining in, & not all could immediately tell where my noise came from. Returning to the other pub, we found ourselves waiting for the stage, while our resourceful re-enactor insinuated himself into the band then occupying it--& danced with a goofy woman who showed herself something of a pest afterwards, getting up whenever music played & grooving to it by herself--& invading our space, even onstage. Being led off didn’t end it, but we finally did by marching out the back door.

Instead of hitting the other hangout again, we drove off to the Curling Club, where some important bonspiel was reportedly on. We played in the lounge area, got free drinks & saw the ice shut down. [Our leader] asked me if I’d mind “The Battle of Waterloo” in our repertory (of course not). Seems I’ve started something!

We did get our corned beef from [brother]Bill another day.

As usual, my chronicling seriously lags the events described. It was last month that our Olympic curling teams--officially based right here, though not every member hails from this town--battled it out in the Turin Games. We followed the action at home, even if it wasn't live. It's now a matter of record that the Johnson Rink didn't quite make the medal round, while Team Fenson scored the bronze: First US medal in the sport since it went Olympic not too many years ago. One of our guys, Scott Baird, already took the cake as the oldest Winter Olympian ever at 54; since I turned 49 during the Games, I can't claim to be that much younger!

One result, not so dependent on the outcome, was free publicity for our normally obscure little city. It's alleged, however, that our local authorities seem not to have grasped the opportunity to exploit the situation.

I wasn't involved in any of the hoopla attending our returning Olympians. The first weekend in March, though, I volunteered for a gig at the Curling Club (or, as our sometime PM called it, the "1st...Church of the Sacred Broom"). It happens to be a place where my parents used to hang out regularly, though I didn't. The occasion was a closing(?) ceremony for a regional(?) championship/playoff bonspiel. Well, no one but the boss & I showed up with our pipes; my fellow less-competent piper was on hand but evidently didn't feel up to playing. He pointed out US skip Cassie Johnson among spectators nearby--& he ought to know, having just attended the Turin Games himself. Anyhow, we waited for Team Fenson to finish an ongoing match; winning, they qualified for a greater contest elsewhere. Finally we two pipers--who were individually introduced to the crowd--& our single "drummer girl", who was not, played a procession of curlers onto the ice. Our leader didn't trust his shoes on that surface, so we went out on a narrow carpeted strip next to it. Unfortunately I missed some cues & failed to stop in time when we cut off halfway throught this regular set!

Another "gap in my narrative," of course. Since piping's the most interesting concrete thing in my life now, that's what I'll blog about again. In general terms I feel as if I've attained another level of competence, even if it's only slightly better than where I was a few months ago. At our last practice the boss said we're starting to sound like a pipe band!

Next month looks busier for us. A potentially related--if improbable--fact is that the US Olympic curling teams are both headquartered in our obscure, silly Far North Flyover town. We are the current US curling capital!

Some gap I've left in my narrative, huh? Since my last entry, the PM's officially relinquished his title--a formality required by certain rules when he agreed to hang out with his old college band. He's presumably still our ranking member, of course!

At our first meeting in nearly a month, talk was of how the new year looks like a lean one for the outfit. Our boss introduced us to a piece he'd written during the break; seems his wife didn't approve of the harmony part & rewrote it.

A Piper's Tale(?) progresses. I think I'm improving, though sometimes it's difficult to tell.

Recently our PM brought in two big shots he knew for a piping/drumming clinic. Only one drummer benefited; she's the only one who shows up! At the end of the day what I remember from my esteemed guest instructor--who ranks high enough that he can tell our boss how to play--amounts to taking care to properly sound the low Gs in certain required embellishments.

Failed to note our meeting maybe two months ago at which the band decided to pursue music rather than worry about uniforms. So--no controversial tartan decisions for the time being!

On a more personal level, it seems I neglected to record here how I've become a poster boy for some common middle-age maladies. Aside from mere obesity, I've been dealing with hyperlipidemia for a few years, & more recently my blood-sugar readings put me in Type-II diabetic territory. (Fortunately my blood pressure never was a problem.) I finally resolved to lose weight & leave that territory. Just a few weeks ago I signed up with a new exercise establishment within walking distance of home; my mom already works out at the place next door. Preliminary results are good, but I recognize I've only begun.

Argh! Blatantly Xmas-related ads have begun appearing on TV already. Enough of this pre-Halloween Yuletide crap! I think a consumer rebellion is in order.

After two weeks the band met again. Turnout proved better this time. Our hotshot piper from (originally) Milwaukee showed up, & there was a new guy, a total novice, I guess, from Green Bay. In one of those amazing coincidences we're sometimes told about, the two Wisconsonians realized they'd met before--not sure when or where, but they're both into historical reenactment.

Early this month we played at the local National Guard Armory before & after a departure ceremony for an infantry company on its way to Iraq via Mississippi. Our state's governor showed up for the occasion. Quoting my journal:

Regrettably I found I wasn’t even as good a piper as I’d thought, though maybe (I hope) no one outside the band noticed. Someone commented that our performance, in context, was like a “call to arms.”

Here, by the way, are the arms of the battalion these soldiers belong to:

Well, isn't this amusing: Blogger managed to eat my post again, despite my supposedly recovering it (nice feature if it worked)! No one informed me that "Save as Draft" might mean "Flush Down Etoilet."

OK, on to my reconstruction. The band, if such it still is, has begun meeting in its new home, actually that of its sponsoring institution, a school of art/music established within the last ten years in the building formerly housing our town's leading funeral home. It so happens that the other guy in my piping "class" used to work here in his family business; now his HQ is the firm's new facility just down the avenue from my family's house. (In another, goofier coincidence, their competition moved a few blocks to a spot you can see from the other side of our property!) Regrettably our third newly-recognized piper has quit, at least as far as the band business goes. Whether our band will diminish to a club remains a question.

I've finally taken my own initiative with regard to pipe music. One particular copy of a march--"The 79th's Farewell to Gibraltar"--from a sheaf of non-repertory stuff I'd received earlier, included a URL I finally got around to trying. Turned out the author's no longer in his former band but still maintains an online library of tunes. There I found every traditional piece of pipe music I've wished I could play myself--free! This gives me new motivation.

(Strange, the URL's not working as it did before.)

Yes, that's how I found the claim mentioned in my previous entry. Sorry for a little chronological inconsistency.

Here's a quote from my journal so I don't need to compose too much new text about the current situation:

Some kind of transition time for the band. [This] month we’re set to leave the [Masonic] Temple for the [Arts/Music] School, home of our sponsor. There may be financial changes. And there’s the tartan question, which I’ve tried to help with by leaving my tartan book there. PM... says he likes best the MacBain sett, which I pretty much find unacceptable. Our wunderkind piper gave another point in its favor: she reportedly has ancestry from that clan. (The PM had previously offered Russell tartan as a choice-having recently been informed of his own--non-Scandinavian--descent from that line, but he’s declared himself tired of wearing green & blue.) Furthermore, attendance has dwindled; I’ve lately been the only piper showing up at five.

Meanwhile practice meetings are on hiatus.

Congratuations to me! According to this page's author, less than one in five apiring pipers makes it to the stage of actually playing the pipes. I had no idea I was so distinguished.

One other note, partly off-topic, which our boss recommended including in these Chronicles: I pointed out that my book of tartans, in its paragraph on the Kennedy clan, suggested that the name seemed to derive from "an unflattering Gaelic nickname, caennaideach (ugly-headed)." I don't know what connection the Kennedys of southwestern Scotland may have with the famous Irish-American family, but of course this tidbit reminded us of a certain US senator known in some circles for his big head! (FWIW I do know that at least some of us in the band are Republicans, possibly related to a small-business background.)

Not much in the piping department to brag about, but then I didn't start this blog to chronicle the subject, important to me as it is. Come the end of June, our band was set to play at a civic function; only four of us showed up--without our Pipe Major, absent, we were told, due to the passing of a grandfather. I still had to drone, not knowing all the chosen music.

It seemed a low blow when the PM's father died two weeks later. We learned afterwards that he'd long suffered from a chronic, progressive, presumably incurable disease.

Since my previous entry, the Deep Impact project successfully blasted a comet. Also last month, NASA finally got a manned mission into orbit for the first time since the Columbia disaster. Too bad all the eggs were in the shuttle basket.

Now comes word that a possible tenth planet has been discovered--except that, while it appears probably larger than Pluto, it's presumably a "mere" Kuiper-Belt object, as is Pluto! Things aren't so simple these days. On the question of what to call this body, I've favored the name Erebus since I started giving much thought to the matter of a hypothetical tenth planet.

Here's a short but historic account from my journal describing my first appearance in a parade in which I was not merely droning.

First Sunday [this month] brought this season’s only band gig that I actually committed to [an event in a town down the road]. Rain still fell [at home], but we were under the impression it was letting up to the west. Well, coming in waves it may have been, but let up it wouldn’t. Eventually the full band occupied a designated Lutheran church basement, where uncertainty gave us plenty of preparation time. Finally we found ourselves lining up for the delayed parade at the intersection outside the church, practically next to a lake (which I probably hadn’t known about) with rain blowing across it. Turned out we were the second unit, & I was placed in the front rank next to the Major--for my first experience actually playing tunes in a pipe band. The route through town proved short enough, which may have been just as well; my performance disappointed me. Never heard complaints afterward, though.

Wearing wool can come in handy.