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.