SUNDAY! SUNDAY! pt 1

Oh! Mein Lederhosen!

Yes, Oktoberfest is kaputfinito. We finished up last night in a furious flurry of high notes, alcohol consumption, rowdiness, "Unter Donner & Blitzen," and helpless giggles. For some reason, I had the uncontrollable urge to yell all night, at the top of my lungs, "Oh! Mein lederhosen!" This was because Mr M and I (and Sherman) gave Ed a little gift to commemorate the ending of Oktoberfest this year, a set of Wind-up Hopping Lederhosen from Archie McPhee. ("Happy Bavarian Folkpants With A Mind Of Their Own!") The packaging featured a little cartoon German man running, in his underwear, after his pants yelling, "Oh! Mein Lederhosen!" It seems to be the only thing I can say in a German accent.

Mr M awarded me the "Line of Oktoberfest" Award for my exclamation, on the 12th of our 12 performances, with 10 minutes left in the show: "Hey! We need to tune!"

I also, about halfway through the evening, put on the bavarian hat reserved for the leaders of the march-around, and realized it turned me into an instant smartass. "Instant smartass! Just add hat!"

The surprise I was working on yesterday morning seemed to go well. I fashioned Mr Peabody himself a set of lederhosen (Oh! Mein Lederhosen!), and he tagged along with a baritone to sit in last night. Seth, who plays baritone, was pleased to have him hang on his music stand. Here's a pic of the maestro.

We hung around afterwards to help with the "teardown" process (where all the lights, sound equipment, etc are taken down), but seeing as how I 1) know nothing about any kind of technical equipment, and 2) was pretty much blitzed, I ended up sitting and looping some cables around for storage. And being way too happy.

And then it was time to say goodbye to everyone. And as glad as I am in one way to have my life (or at least my weekends) back for awhile, I'm gonna miss those guys and all the fun we have up there. It's been a blast.

SUNDAY! SUNDAY! pt 2

I Folded My Napkin

I made Mr M laugh today.

Today was an odd day at Mr M's. We slept late, and had coffee (I also had my apple turnover from last night, my one dessert from all of Oktoberfest), and then, as soon as we were awake, it was time for Mr M to show me the video he wanted me to see. A video of a therapy session conducted by his personal hero, Dr Albert Ellis.

And so we watched, and in the grand tradition of me and Mr M and the subject of therapy rearing its ugly head, there was a fight. It all ended in tears. And then there was the pouting and sulking and everything that went with it.

Then we played clarinets!

I should have known my psyche would overpower whatever I talent I may or may not have. I was holding back, my fingers were getting in their own way, I kept missing notes, then stopping. And every time I stopped, Mr M said, "Don't stop! Come on, play, don't stop!" which unnerved me even more.

"You wanna quit?" he kept asking.

"No! Yes! I don't know!"

And so we'd play again. Stop, start, miss a note, hit myself in the head, shake my hands around where they'd gone numb, and walk that fine line between helpless laughter and uncontrollable sobbing.

"You wanna quit?"

"No!"

"Well, come on, let's play, don't think about it, you're thinking about it, just play, quit stopping!"

Finally my entire being became a heaping mass of jello. My spine disintegrated, my muscles packed in, my nervous system gave up, and I fell over onto my stand, face buried in the music, body heaving with the laughter of a woman who's lost the will to live.

And the reason I couldn't stop laughing was because of the image that had entered my head. Do you know the scene from the movie "The Miracle Worker" where Annie Sullivan locks the dining room and is teaching Helen Keller to eat breakfast? And there's fighting, and food-throwing, and biting, and slapping, and cold water-dousing, and screaming, and plate-breaking, and crying, and hair-pulling? And at the end of it all, out comes Annie, hair askew, clothes covered in food, scratched and bloodied, walking out of the completely wrecked dining room, announcing to Captain Keller, "She folded her napkin."

There are days when that's what practicing the clarinet is for me. Exactly.

Only poor Mr M gets to be Annie Sullivan, all torn and bloodied, and I get to be Helen Keller, in the dark in so many more ways than one. And some days may end up total failures, and some other days there may be scrambled eggs all over the floor and broken plates, but I end up with a folded napkin.

I told this to Mr M and he got the analogy. And enjoyed it.

And that was today. We finished the piece. My napkin was folded. But I distinctly remember Mr M's hair askew and glasses sitting crooked on his face.