Dusty Eyed Drum Beats

I don’t know why but Veterans Day yesterday caught up with me much more than usual.  It may be advancing age is reminding me how distant the drums are getting as well as my ability to march towards them.  The connection is still there though.  All it takes a trace of cordite wafting on the wind, the sound of boots in unison, and of course – bagpipe music.

Parade Forming Up

The Worcester Veterans Day parade formed on the street right outside my office which was kind of neat.  It was a small affair but put people in uniform with a band playing and I’m there.  Each of the local high schools has a very active JROTC program, either Air Force or Navy though (this is still Massachusetts).  I observed the Air Force learns how not to march at a very early point in their careers (it’s called a left foot boys).  The parade ended with two lonely bagpipe players (hooo ahhh!) and they were playing the Minstrel Boy as they came into view.  Just about the perfect way to severely tug at the heartstrings.

 



Air Force Cadets Almost Marching

Favorite Part of Parade

Sunday saw a day spent in couch potato position #1 while immersing myself in the joy that is the NFL Red Zone.  My Keene Friend took advantage of one of his rare days off to journey down and over indulge in a Sunday afternoon of conspicuous football consumption.

Serious Man Crush on this Dude!

My wife lurked in the wings however to launch me on the next task.  Once the Keene Friend was safely out the door she informed me she would start painting again on Monday.  The master bathroom was up next but since she was starting on an early weekday she would probably finish before my help painting would be needed. 

I immediately decided this project deserved my unqualified support.  The biggest job was patching holes and depressions from the various iterations of towel racks we’ve had.  I started chipping away around the holes so I could plaster and level the surface prior to painting.  The only problem was the hole just kept getting bigger and bigger.  Apparently some moisture got underneath the plaster and I soon had a fairly significant divot to repair (think 1.5 yards in size).    

I had just gotten to the point that I thought all edges of the plaster divot were anchored to the dry wall when my ever helpful wife came in and starting picking at one edge.  Before I could stop her the hole had significantly grown again (she has very sharp fingernails).  I was starting to think the damned thing was biological. 

We’d probably reached the point of needing a professional plasterer but since that would push the project dangerously close to a weekend and my accompanying availability I decided to give it a shot.  I next learned that 9 year old joint compound can be a stone cold bitch to work with.  Somehow and despite my truly sad level of skill I filled in the various holes and depressions, including the cavernous one.  Some early morning sandpaper yesterday actually blended the whole thing into the wall fairly well; telling evidence that Someone up there must really take pity on bumblers.  Having successfully dodged another bullet, the Saturday birthday pub crawl in Keene survives! 

The Patched Wall

Returning home from work I found the industrious wife nearly finished with the first coat of paint.  I saw my devious plan of avoiding work coming to fruition as I boldly stated that she could easily finish off the second coat tomorrow.  She apparently was “feeling it” or was in some kind of painting zone because she summarily declared that she was going to finish the second coat right away.  As I saw the ruins of my plans falling in the face of my availability to help she also stated she wanted to do it by herself.  Hope springs anew!  While keeping her company during her efforts her hand started to cramp up and I offered to help.  Shortly thereafter she was watching television while I finished the painting.  Feminine wiles indeed, where do they learn how to do this!  I’m nearly 32 years into this marriage and I still can’t figure it out.  I definitely was played but the new walls look great.

The Painting Queen Surveying Her Latest Project

Finally - because I can't get it out of my head - one of the finest military ballads ever conceived, The Minstrel Boy - played on the only instrument that can do it justice: