Baby Pink Platforms

A few days ago, my mother asked me--or rather, reminded me--to go through dresses and artwork for a garage sale our church back home is doing later this fall. It was something she'd mentioned to me before, but I hadn't done so the last time I was home and the deadline for having things ready was coming up fast. Another very brief trip home was in order.

I started going through artwork in the basement after I arrived earlier this afternoon, and that was...interesting. Some of it was stuff I'd forgotten I'd done, and the majority of the work was pretty weak from what I remembered. I joked to Mom that one of the pieces I'd chosen was from my "Blue Period," except that the drawing was horrible, and it happened to have been done during a really bad time in high school. At least Picasso's Blue Period produced beautiful, thoughtful work; I went through a period where I didn't care about what I was doing, and it is clear by looking at each and every piece.

The dress search was its own trip. I found one dress that I couldn't bear to part with; it is a deep mulberry color, one my mother made for me for my senior Winter Formal, that has a beautiful cut-out at the base of the skirt and lace stretching across the neckline. I told her I'd take it later, once I have room in my closet to keep it. I found the dress I wore to my high school graduation; it was never very comfortable and it poofed out strangely in front. The ball gown I'd worn to my senior prom, I finally decided, would be donated to the garage sale along with the graduation dress, a skirt I wore once or twice, and a couple of dance costumes.

When I was poking around my bedroom, I found a ton of things that brought back memory after memory. But then I found the platforms.

I'd gotten them at Wal-Mart when I was in junior high. They're baby pink--my favorite color at the time--and I wore them maybe once or twice. In fact, I don't even remember really wearing them--just admiring them, considering whether to wear them or not. Like, perhaps people would think I was trendy if I wore them.

The strangest thing about it all was the fact I'd found them the same weekend I repurchased the second Britney Spears' album, one that I have a love/hate relationship with. I listened to it again in its entirety yesterday, and it brought back memories of a group of friends I spent a lot of my time with in junior high, making up dances to each of the songs and listening to it for hours on end. Two of these friendships were especially toxic; one girl continuously brought me down, reminding me at every chance she could how much better she was at everything, and the other was close to the same, but she lived in my neighborhood and so we saw each other a lot until she decided to ignore me. And then, I entered high school and decided to spend more time in my room reading than socializing.  

One of the girls wore shoes much like this on a regular basis. It was her style, and I wanted to wear the same kind of stuff she did. I bought them hoping that she would approve, and that others at school would consider me trendy enough to spend time with. But I never really wore them.

This kind of nostalgia is something I'm not sure how to handle. At times it's great, because I can tap into the emotions easily when writing. I remember the good things about being that age, about wanting to wear makeup and nailpolish and getting prettied up, feeling as beautiful as Britney or Beyonce or the girls from B*Witched. I've talked a little bit about this before. I was reminded of it again earlier this week when I put in Hocus Pocus and my roommate and I were reminiscing about how different it was watching it as much later. There was something really exciting about growing up at the turn of the century. Listening to that music, watching those movies I loved as a kid--they all bring back the good things. Before the internet was something I depended on, when Disney Channel showed good movies and began airing shows that would stick with me for years to come. Every once and awhile, that mental journey is wonderful. I remember where I was, and how far I've come. 

Other times, however, it's somewhat depressing. At thirteen, I wasn't able to see how those friendships would break down my self-esteem, nor how I would think back on that experience often, understanding what it meant in my life. It puts me in a weird headspace, much like that when I read an old journal. 

But it keeps me thinking, wondering, discovering and rediscovering. I sang along to the album as I've listened to it this weekend, remember the things I love about it, as well as the things I don't. I even tried the baby pink platforms on, just to see how well they fit. And they did. I felt like a Spice Girl as soon as I buckled them. Baby Spice. She's the one who wore the platform shoes most often. 

I walked into the kitchen to show Mom. "Well, what do you think? How do I look?" I asked, striking a pose. 

Mom turned, glancing down at my feet. "Oh, yeah. Clunky."

I laughed, glancing down as well. My mulberry nail polish clashed with the pink in a strange way. "You're right. I gotta take these off."

Journaling Through Time

My sophomore English teacher required us to journal at the beginning of nearly every class period. He'd write a question in the corner of the marker board, and we'd write for five minutes exactly. The question must be answered, but we were allowed to talk about other things, if we so wished.

When I was home over the weekend, I came across the very Blue Books I'd written in for that semester and a half. Heidi and I took turns reading them before dinner yesterday. 

Me (when she picked up the other off my lap): You do know you are reading my personal, private journal that I wrote in class when I was fifteen? The one that only I (and Mr. Cook) know the contents of? 

Heidi: Yes. 

Heidi (later, jokingly): EW. You are rude: "My sister keeps telling me that she's planning something special for my b-day, but I figure that if she is, she'll probably forget. She does things like that." Well, now I know what you think of me. 

Reading the journals made me embarrassed not only for myself, but for my English teacher, who, I'm sure, had to read many of these hormone-ridden sob-fests over the years. (I'm sorry, Mr. Cook. I wish I'd written something more philosophical and interesting for you to read.) But mostly, I was intrigued, because I learned some important things. 

1. I repeatedly mentioned how I wished everyone would understand that my writing wasn't to gain vengeance on my classmates. (I wonder if I was paranoid.)
2. I tried (and failed) writing HP fanfic at 15. 
3. For the first chunk of journal, I mention the first two HP movies, but never by name. I can bet you fifty bucks that everyone (including my teacher) knew exactly what they were. 
4. There is a lot of this: "...THAT I AM NORMAL!! Well, kind of...maybe. I don't know" and this: "I can be an okay person if people would give me the time of day. Oh, and another reason I enjoy writing is because Heather has no social life, so she spends her time making up fantasy social lives so that she doesn't go insane with boredom." This is some of the most honest bits of the journal; I remember feeling this way every day. 
5. Above everything else, what I valued most in others (and prayed, in turn, others would value in me) was a good heart and good mind as opposed to a pretty face and hot bod. 
6. I talk a LOT about Prisoner of Azkaban movie (which, at the time, was to come out after that school year ended), Daniel Radcliffe, and Return of the King. 
7. The above, I realized, was because I needed a distraction to everything that was happening that year. And that year, truly, was a nightmare. I kept a lot of my feelings to myself. My emotions (and the events that affected them) were not safe in those blue booklets. 
8. As soon as my grandmother passed away that year, the entries spent a lot of time agonizing about how unfair life was. Her passing shattered everything. 
9. I was lonely. It becomes more evident as the journal progresses toward my 16th birthday, the age my parents told me I was allowed to begin dating. In relation to that, I was naive enough to think that there would be people lined up, waiting to date me. I don't think the loneliness was limited to romance, however. I mention my sister and my best friend, but I don't mention any of the other people I knew I hung out with in school. 

Out of curiosity, I pulled out the diary I kept for most of that year, just to compare the two. My real, private diary is a little more honest, but I know I kept things from it, too. The real diary contains better writing (at the beginning, before the entries become distracted with talk about crushes and movie stars). But there are correlations. Small ones, at that, but they're there. 

"God, I was such a drama queen," I declared as soon as I finished reading both booklets. Dad chuckled a little, and five minutes later, Mom let us know that dinner was ready.

A drama queen, yes. And yet the things I want to respond with: You will change your opinion of Buffy, though you technically won't see much more of the show than you have at this point. You will still be afraid of death, though you will fervently admire Emily Dickinson's view on the subject. Wait till you see DH parts 1 and 2 (and you will still love the HP books like there's no tomorrow, appreciating it more and more as you get older, for many reasons). For goodness sake, read Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. And you will certainly meet some beautiful, wonderful human beings who love you, and whom you will love in return; these people will stick themselves to you like glue. 

And so on. There are, of course, a few other things I'd add, but I would probably keep them to myself. Because I have to learn things, and grow. 

Worse Poetry

I never remembered that there was a short-lived literary magazine* at my high school. But, low and behold, when I went upstairs to my room to head to bed late last night, I started poking around a little bit (one of my projects for the summer/fall is doing a massive cleaning up there and getting rid of everything I don't need). On top of a pile of boxes was a booklet stapled together with a blue cover, entitled "Paint Me As I Am." 

I didn't know what it was at first. I thought it was something left over from my sister's years at the jr./sr. high, but when I saw the worn post-it note on the cover with my name on it and my fourth and fifth hour classes from Spring 2003 listed, I became exceptionally curious. 

Some of the entries are anonymous, some chose to keep their names attached to their work. Two of my poems were chosen to be included in the journal. And they're awful. So deliciously awful, in fact, that I wanted to share. 

Ahem. 

A Garden 

A bench

Set in a grove 

Flowers blossoming all around

Lilies 

Roses

Daisies

Chrysanthemums

All under a willow tree 

With low flowing branches

That grab you with love and wonder

Beside the gently babbling brook

Water softly engulfing pebbles 

With every breath it takes

Around the pebbles swim

Tiny fish

Frolicking within the 

Great expanse of what they call home

Birds sing gaily in the trees

Singing the bird song

Telling of a Garden

Nature's Garden

And, of course, the quintessential angsty high school poem, complete with subtle title, no? 

Leave me be

anger 

rage

it's not all good

don't care what you say

so mad

life hates me

shut up and listen for once 

be happy

'cause 

you're one of the lucky ones 

you probably have a life

that's all milk and honey

well you know what

i have no happy life

cause I'm not like you

don't even go there

 nor start your

foolish hypocrisy

cause it's not all good

don't laugh

not funny

don't you see

it's not all good

leave me be

One thing to understand--something that I have to keep reminding myself of--is that these poems were written when I was freshman in high school. Other than that, I'll let them speak for themselves. Happy Wednesday. :)

*If I remember correctly. I don't remember it lasting much longer than one semester because it might have been a class that put it together--but it's been about 9 years and the details have since escaped me. 

"Make Lemonade"

When I was in high school, I made my way through all the YA books both the public library and the school library had. Well, all the ones that sounded good, and I tried to read as many as I could. One of the books I picked up was a book written in poetry form (I think either blank verse or free verse, and because I'm such a terrible English major, I can't remember which is which--my deepest apologies) called True Believer. I remember feeling really affected by it because it was so unique in comparison to the kinds of things I had been reading before.

A year or two after reading it, I was browsing the school library's collection of YA books*, and I found a book called Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff. I found out that ML was the first of a trilogy that included True Believer, the second book in the series.

After I'd finished reading both in the series, I tried looking on the internet to see what the third one was called and instead found out that it had not yet been published. When I had to read True Believer again for my Lit for Adolescents class a few years ago, I looked again, my love for the series renewed**, and found out that the third book had not yet been published. I asked my professor if she knew anything about it, and she knew no more than I did.

After I got back from getting my hair cut earlier today, my roommate Prairie was sitting at the dining room table with my battered but loved used copy of True Believer. She had recently finished Make Lemonade and I suggested reading TB since she loved the first book so much. She commented on how much she loved the book so far.

"There's supposed to be a third one in the series," I said, rinsing off the saucepan I'd been washing and putting it into the dish drainer. "I don't think it's out yet, though."

"Really?" she said, turning the book over in her hands and inspecting the cover.

"I think so. Gimme a sec and I'll see if there's anything about it yet online. I don't even know what it's called..." I dried my hands and got on my laptop and did a google search.

I pulled up Virginia Euwer Wolff's website and clicked on the books link. Among the covers shown, I noticed one that looked pretty recent, a book called This Full House, and clicked on it.

As soon as I saw the name LaVaughn, I flipped out. "I think this is it! It has to be!"

I had to double check, just to be safe.*** It came out in 2009, and I didn't know until two years later. But no matter. Finally, after years and years, the trilogy is complete. I can't wait to read it.


*I think this is where I found it, because I don't recall the public library having it, but it could be the other way around. I can't remember for sure. I just know I read both books and they came from either library.

**Because reading it the second time made me love it even more.

***I'm not a big fan of the cover design. It makes me think of the covers for series like Pretty Little Liars, as seen here. It doesn't seem to fit the nature of the series, but ultimately it doesn't matter, because the story is what counts. You know?

"Calling All Angels" by Train

There are few songs that have played on the radio in the last ten years that have given me that soaring feeling every single time, and Train is certainly at the top of the list. I heard this on the radio earlier today while at work, and it hit me that I had almost forgotten about it.

This was my very first ringtone on my very first phone. It makes me think of all the other great songs I listened to in high school that were on radio airplay at the time: Michelle Branch, Maroon 5....decent, decent stuff. I fear that today's music doesn't always have the same je ne sais quoi as music from the early 2000s did. Perhaps it was carrying over from all of the great 90s stuff...I don't know. I'm not an expert by any means. I just know what sounds good to me.

Also, thinking about this makes me feel old. Because, you know, it came out about 8 years ago.

Thoughts on Summer (Part One, probably)

Since this summer will most likely be the last one I get to savor fully (for the time being), the next the one I plan to cap off my college experience with Something Very Big and Probably Spontaneous. Summer has always been a reprieve. It is the silver lining on the haze of the rest of the year. So much can happen in the space of three months--and it can be anything.

The summer between junior high and high school, my friend Jael and I made a pact to prepare for high school. As far as we were concerned, there was a set of guidelines to follow. The top of the list was that high school girls had tans. So, we went to the pool every day for two weeks to sit in the sun for an hour to build one up--and I remember having a very mild one across my shoulders. The day I finished eighth grade, I felt different. For the rest of the summer, I spent my free time reading, working on the first two pencil drawings I knew would be due for my first high school art class. I wrote a lot that summer. I had finished that novella that I'm now slightly ashamed of. I started my second novel idea--which I have never finished to this day. The soundtrack that summer was Vanessa Carlton's "Be Not Nobody," a CD I listened to over and over as I was writing though at the time I didn't like most of the songs on the album. I made an over-the-shoulder bookbag from an old canvas Boogarts shopping bag, using a leopard striped seatbelt shoulder thing as part of the strap. I dieted the whole summer after talking to a dietician, walking every morning with my mom and keeping track of my calorie intake. We would sit out on the porch after our return to eat breakfast. I tried to get into a beauty regime. The diet, the tan, and Neutrogena were my passes to impressing boys and the rest of the student body. I don't think it actually worked, but at the time I had hope.

That was the summer after Grandpapa passed away, the one before the last summer we saw Grandmama before she died. I looked through Grammy's photo albums for pictures I wanted to draw for art, finding a  stack that I worked my way through. I carried around two sketchbooks and a stack of magazines (mostly relating to Harry Potter) that I drew from. Apart from the family stuff and our Michigan trip, I spent a lot of time by myself, reading, drawing, writing, watching music videos, thinking.....I remember sitting in the living room one afternoon, staring out the screen of the front door, willing someone to come over. Though I appreciate now the time I had to ponder, to prepare myself for what would come, I should have involved myself more. But there was hardly anyone left to involve myself with, because the end of eighth grade was such a grand disaster.

I did, however, get involved in some form during the summers, though it varied depending on the particular summer. For many of them, I was a part of a kids' theater/singing group. I was Dorothy in "The Wiz," Nala in "The Lion King,"and sang many songs like "Aquarius" and "The Time Warp" (which I will never ever tire of). And then there was the community theater group I was involved with, whether it was having a small part in the ensemble or working as a techie. I loved every minute of these experiences--I'm a proud drama kid--though some productions weren't as fun as others and I hated striking the set. But there were so many little "defining moments" from not only being on stage or waiting just offstage to switch out a set, or even waiting for the next cue in the warm high school hallways with the other members of the cast. It became a part of me. It was only during my final involvement with the theater group--that summer's musical was "Will Roger's Follies"--where it just wasn't fun anymore, and I wanted out. That was the summer I almost quit, the last summer I spent in my hometown. I needed to get away from the patterns I was seeing, because a lot of it made me sick. That's not to say that I wouldn't be up to doing theater again in the future--it's just that by that summer, I began to see through the illusion and understand the dynamics of the people I'd grown up with, and I could not handle it anymore.

In junior high and high school, I joined a summer reading group for teens that was held every Thursday. It was called Lunch Bunch, and we would sit picnic style in the conference room at the public library (go libraries!) and eat our lunches, do an activity, and then talk about what we were reading that week. By the time I joined this group (probably right after I finished 6th grade or 7th grade, I can't remember the exact year), I was looking for more to read, and I remember meandering to the YA section for the first time, somewhere I hadn't been before. There was a different feeling standing in front of those few shelves, inspecting the books to find a good one. It seemed...dangerous, and from there, I have never looked back. I'm almost positive that the first summer I was a part of Lunch Bunch, I read a book called That Summer by Sarah Dessen, and it seemed like my life changed, even if it really didn't. I loved being a part of it, and I really miss it.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore years, I spent a lot of time by myself. I read nineteen books--an accomplishment I was very proud of--and began driving lessons. It was a big summer; I was fifteen, and I was determined to be more grown up. I started carrying a purse with me everywhere because I had a learner's permit. My driving instructor rejoiced when I finally drove over 60 miles an hour on the highway. I remember really, really wanting to be a good driver. That was my mantra as I started building up my driving hours: "You need to be a good driver, you need to be a good driver..." Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out that summer, and I lost myself in its 800+ pages. It's still my second favorite HP book (the top spot is held by DH). That was also the last summer we went to Michigan and saw my grandmother; she died the following October. I did not know the following school year would be so bad, and it was. Royally. I was incredibly relieved when summer came again.

I know I'm probably not making a lot of sense in this post. As usual, I've been thinking too much and the start of summer vacation has prompted a whole lot of memories that I had almost forgotten I had. There is a certain something about it, though, that keeps me interested. I love reading YA books about summers--and Sarah Dessen is the queen when it comes to good summer reads, whether they're set in summer or not. There's something about the freedom, the liberation in a road trip or vacation, the sounds of thunderstorms, the peace from watching the stars, listening to the crickets and the cicadas, swimming and getting out and just being....I'll probably return to this at some point.

Yay/Nay for Glee 02x20, “Prom Queen”

Words cannot fully describe the power this week's episode held, the kind of power in the same vein as "Born This Way" but on a smaller scale. Major kudos to the creators; it was as flawed as any of the other episode, but boy, was it packed with a fire only character and plot development can ignite. This week's episode I felt was on par with "Born This Way", "Laryngitis", "Wheels", etc. This is definitely one of my favorites of the season, and an extremely important episode overall.

Nay: The pacing was a little funky at the very beginning. The choppiness didn't last very long, however. I felt the last half of the episode flowed very well once they'd set everything up. It just took awhile.

Yay: Sue's Going-Away gift for Mr. Schue. It sent me into a fit of giggles for a long time. Also the punch bowl story.

Yay: Mercedes, Sam, and Rachel's Prom-On-A-Budget. LOVE. That's how it's done. And I think it's true to how prom is treated in the Midwest. (Or close to it, anyway. It's awesome to get creative, and all three of them looked great.)

Yay: The Prom Gown Dry Run. This scene was hilarious. e. g. "Go with God, Satan--Santana."

Yay: Have I mentioned how much I love it when they show the students in other classes and such? I thought the home economics scene was one of the best of the episode. It was funny, it was sweet....and the acting was really strong. I'm also pleased, though it made me feel very sad for Artie, that Brittany called him out for what he did to her. This shows us a lot about Brittany's character.

Yay: The music this week. Every song was seamless, integrated perfectly into the flow of the episode, and so much was said beyond the action, lyrics and lines that bookended them. Nicely done. (Especially "Jar of Hearts" and "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You." LOVE the tension from Finn's jealousy.)

Yay: The scene at Kurt and Finn's house. LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE. Kurt's prom outfit? Wonderful. I'm glad he was defiant about wearing it, because it is awesome and he has every right to wear it. One thing I've been thinking about since watching the episode on Tuesday: I understand the concern that Burt had and that Blaine seconded about Kurt's desire to be himself at prom, because people can be cruel. But it really sucks that Kurt would have to consider not being himself in order to "please" the general face of society. (More on this later.) Anyway, this scene was another really strong one.

Yay: Karofsky. This is what I'm talking about when I talk about how awesomely three dimensional the characters are.

(Kind of) Nay: Jesse's back, and he's still an ass. (I love Jonathan Groff--and he plays Jesse so well.)

Not sure whether to count this as a Yay or Nay: Rebecca Black's "Friday". Personally, I HATE the song. But honestly, I didn't really think much about it when watching it because at prom, no one really cares what's playing. I remember from the proms I went to that I didn't mind if they played a song I didn't like. I'd either sit down for it, or sing along anyway, because no one cared that it was bad. They recognized it and if they could dance to it, that's all that mattered. And really, it DOES NOT MATTER if it was on Glee or not. It's just a song, it's part of pop culture, and it does not have much effect on the episode either way.

Yay: Kurt and Blaine this episode. Blaine's Sadie Hawkins' story was heart-wrenching. And Kurt's excitement and naivety about Prom was both wonderful and made me hate even more how everyone nearly ruined it for him. But the grand moment in which Blaine, who had been so concerned for their safety, stepped forward and asked Kurt to dance was beautiful. I love Deconstructing Glee's thoughts on this and Kurt's speech right before he returns to the gym. Good on ya, Kurt and Blaine. You deserve a slow dance together, all the time, forever.

Yay: YAY MERCEDES HAD A GOOD PROM!!! (Now, let's see more storylines for her!)

Yay/Nay on the real-life situation: Kurt as the elected Prom Queen. This is something I'd like to write on further, because there are a lot of important things this plot point addresses. (Deconstructing Glee makes a lot of good points about this as well, though I agree to disagree on some.) I thought they handled this really, really well. The look on Kurt's face, that one bastard who cheered, the hateful looks, the other bastard who slow clapped....hugely, hugely powerful. Chris Colfer is a brilliant actor, and the scene in the hallway between Blaine and Kurt is my favorite from this episode. The thing that kills me is that this is something that could really happen, and I'm sure has in some form. It breaks my heart to think of anyone being harassed or teased for being themselves, looking or thinking a certain way, or for being "different." And I get angry when it comes to close-minded people making assumptions about others who challenge the norm. In elementary through early high school, I was teased for being fat, etc., and I hated when my friends were looked down upon for anything that the general public deemed unworthy. The example of the homophobia that Kurt faces on a daily basis gets my blood boiling because he--or anyone for that matter--should not have to be discriminated against because of who they're attracted to, or what they believe, or the color of their skin, or anything that makes them unique. But society will work as it does, and as Kurt points out: "...All that hate: they were just afraid to say it out loud. So they did it by secret ballot." It's awful what people can do, but I am so, so glad that Glee is addressing it. And they have handled it brilliantly in all forms, whether it was simply a slushie facial or something as cruel as WMHS's display of homophobia. This is important stuff, here: our lives, who we are, are reflected in the stories these characters have to tell.

Yay: The immediate aftermath of the Prom Queen announcement. Brilliantly presented, Glee. Brittany's speech to Santana. I also love how Quinn apologizes to Rachel after she slaps her.

Nay: Did anyone else feel that Sue's attempt to keep Artie as a POW was slightly anticlimactic? I mean, it was hilarious, but....

Yay: "...that they can't touch me. That they can't touch us, or what we have." and "Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton." I cheered. Kudos to Kurt. That'll show them.

Yay: The final number, "Dancing Queen". Such a great ending. First with Kurt and Blaine dancing, then everyone else joining in, all lost in the moment of joy, and the final montage of prom pictures....Brilliant, Glee. I love it.

Seventy-Six Trombones*

To be honest, I don't remember a lot about my freshman year of high school. I didn't go to any dances that year that I remember, and I was not involved in drama club until my sophomore year, and I think what I did was spend a lot of time at home reading. (I think the terror of junior high needed a year from which to recover because it was so awful).

I remember few details about the year; reading Animal Farm, The Butterfly Revolution (both of which I hated) and Romeo and Juliet (my real introduction to Shakespeare, and I enjoyed it very much) in English, drawing like mad in Art, that blasted ink drawing that took me forever and a day to finish, the map project thing at Alcove Spring, bits and pieces of computers class, and marching band. Everything else is out of my memory--or at least so buried that it would take a lot of thinking/asking around to bring it to the surface. I don't think I kept a journal at all that year and I wish I had so that I could have something to reference from.

Anyway, I didn't actually realize this fully until today before the lunch shift, when Sara and I were talking about marching band and I was telling her all the stuff I loved and hated about it during the two years I was a part of it.

My band teacher's crazy bipolar/out of control temper (and the fact that he was the reason I gave up band for Art) aside, I loved marching band. There was something about the sound**, the horns mixed with the drumline, the cadences, the hats, the everything that made it worth my while. To walk out onto the field, the lights bright in the halftime twilight...To this day, I love watching the marching band at any high school/college football games.

I did remember one little detail today that I had forgotten about. Since band was the first class of the day, we were to meet out on the practice field and be ready to start at the beginning of class. Since marching band took place in the fall, the sun would rise later and later as the semester progressed. When we'd get to the other side of the track where the field was located, everything seemed gray, ethereal, with a kind of fog some mornings. As the sun creeped over the hill that towered over the east side of the field, the grass would "grow" greener and the fog absorbed into nothing, the shadow retreating into the base of the hill. In the space of one hour, we were illuminated.

Perhaps it's a little over the top, but it always made my day. The simple things in life, you know?

*Have you seen "The Music Man" (the 1962 version)? If not, you should. Right now.

**Which explains part of the reason that my favorite Glee cover to this day is this song, because, you know, Kurt and Mercedes rock it out and they have the WMHS marching band to accompany them. Such a great version.