When did I turn into Mr. Wilson?
All of my life I have relished the Dennis the Menace role. Instead, I turn out to be the old guy muttering in the street about these darn kids.
Today I had a visit from Mr. Wilson.
The scene looked innocent enough. 10-year old boy on his way home from school. But with a deadly weapon in his hand.
Not a hand gun. Not even a sling shot. But -- a bugle.
In itself, the bugle is a benign instrument. Even a bit aesthetic with curves in all the right places.
But putting one in the hands of a boy is like giving money and power to politicians. It simply will not turn out well.
I had never seen him before. So, I indulged in the optimism of the ignorant. Maybe he does not live near. Ignoring the fact that there only about two blocks where he could live on our little laguna-locked peninsula.
But I did not have to wait to hear where he lived. He was so beamingly proud of his newly-acquired instrument of mass musical destruction that he could not wait to get home to press it to his lips.
Up it went. And the result was just as bad as you could expect from someone with little music sense, even less talent, and no time to wait for the inconvenience of scales and practice.
And I did not mind it one bit. Other than a bit of wincing.
I love music. And I love people who are excited enough to attempt to make some of their own.
I wish him well. He may turn out to be the next boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B.
But, far more likely he will hook up with the local village band that relies solely on enthusiasm and volume for their appearances.
Even that will be fine. After all, I moved to Mexico, not to Julliard.
And I have learned something new. The sound of a badly-played bugle can travel a long, long way from a ten-year old's home.
Even further than a cock's crow.
27 comments:
Thank you Steve for our morning chuckle. It is a great way to start a new day.
The sound of music or meager attempts certainly beats out the banging of propane canisters, barking dogs and construction site noise. Of course you are a patron of the future arts. ;-)
Ooohh Mr. Wilson! There's plenty of that kind of music at my house. :P Hope is learning how to play the recorder at school and practices every afternoon. Then there's the wide selection of musical instruments that the kiddies call toys: guitars, tambourines, drums and kazoos. Never a dull moment around here. :)
Hey, It could be worse...like a garage band practacing next door.... Don't worry, with age your hearing will diminish and all will be well again......eh? What did you say?
Leslie Limon sent this comment, but it ended up in the old comment system. Who knows why? But here it is -- under my signature.
Ooohh Mr. Wilson! There's plenty of that kind of music at my house. :P Hope is learning how to play the recorder at school and practices every afternoon. Then there's the wide selection of musical instruments that the kiddies call toys: guitars, tambourines, drums and kazoos. Never a dull moment around here. :)
But I have come to accept the noise of Mexico as being its own special music. Perhaps, Hispanic Philip Glass.
I don't want my hearing to go too soon. After all, how would I know when one of those teen-ridden scooters was about to descend on me?
This is God's way of getting even with me for not producing children.
You are welcome. Life on my little street is often filled with guffaws.
What then is a blog but a bugle, blown from the mountaintops of cyber-space, the sounds of which carom off electronic canyon walls at the near speed of light? A performance, I might add, performed by more than ten year old boys. Some even younger.
ANM
There's noise and then there's happy noise. And you can't always tell the difference from afar. But I like happy noise - laughing children, loud fun parties etc. Beats crying children and parties that I'm not invited to!
Our Mexican neighbour plays bagpipes. While wearing a kilt and marching down the middle of the street or on the neighbour's front porch (they are not there all the time). We laugh, its not great, but where else in Mexico am I going to hear bagpipes? Bring it on, I love it.
I have a Dennis that plays the drums a couple of doors down, grrrrrrrrrr. And, to think that I used to have a band banging away in my living room while my parents were at work. Poor Mr. Wilson.
Curious.. Is he attempting Ranchero?
May well be the deciding factor in my future Mexico adventures..
The first NCO I worked with left a note for me one day. "The lieutenant has the heart of a ten-year old boy. In a jar on his desk."
Wow! I just tied in yesterday's post with today's.
It is true that Mexico is not for the noise sissies. One of the recent renters of the duplex was appalled at how noisy the neighborhood was. She wanted to know who she could call to get the roosters to stop crowing. I suggested either God or a good butcher.
I just take it in stride. When I stand in the street waving a cane over my head, I will know it is time to move on.
What a wonderful sound I am sure!!!!!!!!!!!
He has been going at it most of the evening. But he seems to love his horn.
Patience Senor Cotton. He will find a friend who plays a trombone. Then there will be two. Ahh but just think there may come others who play other instruments. There's much that you have to look forward to.
You may be correct. This evening a boy his age showed up with a drum. They were having quite the time in the street until the mother next door told them to move on.
I loved your answer to the renter that wanted to know who to call, to get the roosters to stop crowing.
I have my moments.
The reason I think my comment went through the old system is because I sent it from my Kindle. :)
I forgot to mention that your Bugle Boy sounds like he might be part of the Banda de Guerra at school, that plays for assemblies and flag ceremonies. He's the right age for it. :)
I never thought about that possibility. It would make sense -- when he was joined by the little drimmer boy yesterday.
RancherA, rancherO- whatever, it all sounds like Mt. Angel in September to me. Nothing like a little oom-pah in the morning to brighten ones day. If the Polka gods only knew..
LOL....
So....kind words for badly-blown bugles, but professional accordionists get thrown to the alligators, eh?
Not sure what to think of that.
Saludos,
Kim G
Boston, MA
Where we find accordions FAR more amusing than bugles.
But, Kim, I was only passing on one of my favorite lines. My mother plays the accordion.
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