Another benefit of the recent move: we spent a glorious evening a while ago having dinner at a garden cafe and listening to the sounds of a friend's jazz band. Wonderful. For several reasons. a) the food was nice, b) the weather was lovely, c) the music was terrific, and d) it was like a very strange, very small, very band-centric high school reunion.
I had attended HS with two of the ensemble's members. One, I've kept up with consistently (seeing at various parties over breaks during college, and occasional holiday party when I was visiting my parents, plus periodic emails. He came to my wedding and gave me a random yet fabulous gift.) And one I haven't seen since I was in college. But both are great folks who were influential in my youth. So I expected it would be nice to see them again.
What I didn't expect was running into their "groupies," which are several OTHER people I went to school with. Particularly, the "cool kids."
K'wait: when I was a sophomore (3 year high school system back then), the week before school started, we had band camp. This was a week of 12-hour rehearsal days. We met everyone. We learned tons of new stuff. We were in awe. And we were especially in awe of those big huge seniors who knew what they were doing, and were quite relaxed and groovy about the whole thing.
Two of the big wigs were the trumpet soloists for the field show. I mean, they're seniors, they're cool, AND they're the best musicians! That combined with the drum major, and it was the "in crowd" (in a nobody-but-K-lyn
-will-understand kind of way). When we went on band trips, the major goal was getting on the "cool bus," defined by whatever bus these guys were on. If you were on the cool bus, you were privy to all the best jokes, stories, and music for the entire trip. If you were on a lesser bus, it sucked to be you.
So there I was at the garden cafe, thirty-something years old, and back on the cool bus. It felt weird. It felt nice.