AO & WP

(Appalachian Outreach and Walton Percussion)

Our missions trip in TN was focused around a home belonging to Anna, a 76-year-old single grandmother. Our team of 36 spent four days sanding, painting, planting, mulching, and repairing. My dad rebuilt both of her tolilets as well as replace an entire wall's worth of siding. My friend Leslie and I cleaned out her pantry, rat crap and all. It was nasty...I'm cringing now. I was also in charge of The Mulch Team on the fourth day. We worked through the pouring rain: it rained ALL THE TIME. She's lucky she was so old and cute.

Well, the last day was beautiful. Picture perfect. There was no shortage of cows; we almost witnessed a bullfight. For the first time, I saw a calf drink milk from his mother. It's surprisingly intense.

I had a great time serving and meeting new people that week. I will never forget it. I want to thank you all so very much for your "welcome homes", but alas, it is time to leave you once again.

This year, as some of you may have read in an earlier post, I was moved from drumline to the "pit" or "front ensemble." I was pretty down about it, but I've gotten used to it, and it's a really fun thing to be a part of. My love for marching band will peek through (stare you down, even) at different places in this blog, I'm sure of it. This year, our marching show (what you see at a high school football game's halftime) is titled "Closer to the Edge." It's based on three separate songs by Yes, a progressive rock band from the 1960s through 80s.

Because of my eight year background in piano, my directors placed me on The Synthesizer for our show's opener (the first of three movements). I had pictured something different when I heard "synthesizer"....


Instead, it's an electronic keyboard with many many many sound effects. The techno beats I kick practice off with are now referred to as "funky jams."

The Synthesizer is known this year for its funky jams and solos, one of which is featured here:

*This is a 20 minute video - a great one if you have the time. For quick reference, however, 5:22 thru 5:03 (minutes left) is the sweet spot.*


The solo is a daunting one and not yet played up to par. It's a bit simpler than the one you saw, but really, not by much. It's crazyyy.

This past week was called Pre-Camp, or 8-4 Week. We practiced from 8AM to 4PM Monday thru Friday, learning music and preparing for Band Camp. I leave tomorrow morning for a week in LaGrange, GA. The days will be hot, repetitive, and practice-stuffed: 10 hours each day.

I honestly cannot wait.

Ow

You know the saying "God has a sense of humor"? In this case, I am not one to agrue.

I wrote and erased a post this morning about my excessive opinion sharing, and grasped at straws for a better topic. Giving up, I hung out with Jack and Skye, talking, eating lunch and the like. After agreeing that a slice of watermelon would be the perfect addition to this beautiful afternoon, I retrieved both the watermelon and my father's crazy sharp Japanese kitchen knife.

I know you know where this is going. And it is.

Now, I've used this knife before to cut the past two watermelon. I have this healthy paranoia when it comes to sharp things, but my love for watermelon often outweighs it. With Jack rotating the watermelon as I cut it in half, we were close to fine. So close...

And then I stuck my thumb in the line of fire. I wanted to find the line I had been cutting, as to continue the straight line and avoid mangling my favorite fruit. There was my thumb, and there was the crazy sharp knife. And there was the chunk of the tip of my thumb.

In pain and, I suspect, shock, I ran down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, and put pressure on the bleeding thumb. The bleeding was bad. There's still some on the bathroom floor, in the sink, and on my foot. It was dripping everywhere.

I hate blood, especially my own. I hate needles more than blood--I could never be a heroin addict (this offers my mother some comfort). I was hoping, hoping, hoping that the missing piece of my thumb was no reason for stitches. But the bleeding wouldn't stop. So I called Mom, who called Dad, who came home as fast as he could.

The tears were not from pain, but from the horrible anticipation of the emanating needles and my father's anger. That knife was not to be used by children, and certainly not children home alone. *Cue lesson learned.*

He took me to Urgent Care along with the thumb chunk, which had been preserved with the help of Jack's knowledge of medical shows, Ziploc bags, and ice. I was fairly impressed, but the nurse tossed it.

"I don't think we can stitch this back on, sweetie..."

Two doctors and two nurses came in. One nurse took my temperature and blood pressure, and one doctor seemed to exist only for comfort. I was not comforted. The main doctor tied a rubber tourniquet around the base of my thumb to stop the bleeding and explained the cauterizing method.

"We're going to use a special chemical to close the blood vessels. It might sting a little bit." Immediate mental note: this is going to hurt, and it's going to hurt a lot.

She took a translucent wand covered in the chemical and rubbed it around in my open thumb. It stung like crazy, but I always take the "No pain, no gain" deal to heart when it comes to medical procedures. My eyes watered quite a bit, and the Comfort Nurse exclaimed, "Oh! You're breaking out in hives! Aw, look, you're all red..." Yes, Nurse, you got me.

It was pretty cool though, the chemical really did burn the blood vessels. It turned the skin crater all black. No more blood, no more tears. The doctor stuck a piece of Gel Foam in my thumb and wetted it down. It acts as a sort of synthetic scab. The second nurse took a nifty gauze tool and wrapped up my now healing thumb. I was very grateful. It was a trauma-free experience, all things considered. It'll heal, maybe even without a scar.

As Dad and I were getting in the car he added, "This would make a good blog post, huh?"

Picture Perfect

Guess what?

I saw my first Duck Mom and Duck Babies train today. They were floating down a creek. Floating...? Well they don't swim...

Anyways. I was at my bus stop after having taken off my Hell of A Blister Shoes and running home to grab my Algebra book when I peeked at my neighbors' creek and saw the Duck family. There were five Ducklings, babies as I like to call them. "What was a duck doing with five babies? Were they crying?" my dad asks. Ha. Ha. Ducklings, okay?

Today was a beautiful day. They've been beautiful for some time now, and I enjoyed the bus window wind on my way to school. It ensured that I would be awake enough to complete my 4th period class homework in 1st period.

But then, I didn't make it that far. Mom picked me up before lunch, which was good; I needed the alone time and had forgotten my pizza money.


^ an example photo I wish I had taken but did not.