On Fall, Friends, Fests, Fame, Failures, & Frailty

Hello, Sunday morning. Songs have been written about you, you know.

I've just completed two more nights of Oktoberfest (yes, I've suddenly taken to spelling it with a "k," which I've been resisting for over a year now), and I'm coming to the sad realization that I am indeed too old for any kind of frivolity. It seems like the more fun I have, the worse I feel the next day. And no, no drunkenness/hangover jokes here, I mean my muscles ache, my legs hurt, my shoulders hurt, and I stagger out of bed and tear around with Frankenstein's gait until I can shower, then I creep slowly around trying to get dressed.

Not that there wasn't a little more alcohol consumption than I was expecting last night. On nights I'm driving I really do try to keep it to one beer and a half for enjoyment and toasting purposes, that still leaves me very clear and raring to drive along the downward spiral that is my life. No, wait. Not that downward spiral. It leaves me clear and raring to drive along the downward spiral that is the path from Mountain Lake. Somehow last night I had two full beers and let myself be persuaded into three shots of Jagermeister along the way. Oh, me of little willpower.... Anyway, I was still fine, but I felt bad about driving anyway, because you know, I have a conscience and all.

Now, guess who was at Oktoberfest last night. Acroers take note: it was none other than the Deep Fat Friar himself, who was visiting Mr M and made an appearance at the festivities. Not only was it good to see him again, but it's always nice to have a familiar face out there. And because of that, I found myself playing one of the parts on the clarinet duet the band does. It was the first time I'd played it. It was scary and nerve-wracking. It was funny, though, when it came time to play I was calm, and fine, and found myself doing it pretty well, save for a missed few notes on the second page. Then the last time through, when I started to feel like I might actually make it to the end without dying, I started to get so nervous, my mouth went completely dry, but I held it together till the coda, when I feel like I really shitted it all up. I don't know, hopefully the rest of the band were playing loud enough it didn't sound too bad. Afterwards, Mr M said I'd done well, and I figured, "Hey, he's not going to tell me that if it weren't true," so I accepted it, sat down thankfully, and tried to get the jelly out of my legs....

....Just as Ed then called out for "The Clarinet Polka!" So we all popped back up for a rousing rendition of that! (Which suited me fine because I love "The Clarinet Polka" just as much as Sherman does.)

And speaking of The Boy himself, you wouldn't believe what's happened. Yes, Sherman has really found his niche at Oktoberfest. He's gone from sitting behind us in an empty clarinet case (last year) to sitting in a little chair on my "table" (which is really a small cardboard box I set my mug upon) to being affixed to a clarinet stand, where's he's visible to all there. And on both Friday and Saturday night this week, before the clarinet duet piece, Ed actually introduced him to the crowd! And last night people clapped! And for those of you who were wondering what we could possibly do to top his clarinet, I've got an answer for you. But it will be in the form of a picture, so you must be patient. Maybe tomorrow....

And finally, seems Fall is here in earnest. Not that I'm complaining. Fall is without a doubt my favorite season, I love the leaves turning, I love the sunny days with a decided nip of cold in the air. I love football and Thanksgiving and the sun setting a little earlier. And I love long sleeves.

However, there's one thing I don't love. Yesterday, I got the familiar ring of my doorbell from dear, stalwart, valiant Mowing Boy, telling me that this mow he did Saturday morning was probably going to be the last mow of the season. Alas. Can the ladybugs be far behind?

Mowing Boy was in a very giggly mood at my door. I can only figure one of two things. Either it was because I was standing there in my pajamas and my hair was surely flying six ways of Sunday, as I hadn't been out of bed that long, or it was because he was mowing while I was still asleep, and maybe the sound of my snoring drowned out the sound of his mower. We'll never know what was in that giggle, I guess.