All the Music was too big

Yesterday I woke up with big feelings. It was one of those days where the sky seemed extra blue and the heartbreaks of the world cut extra deep.  I made coffee and put music on and every song had notes that traveled through me, words that swam and around in my head reminding me of something and there I was standing in the kitchen next to the microwave with my eyes leaking happiness. 

I exclaimed to my internet "all the music is too big today" knowing I couldn't keep crying all day with every song.  Sure enough ya'll came through with a some things that sufficed, my favorite being the "Brian Eno - Thursday Afternoon the 61 minute version."  I ran it through twice, providing a beautiful background to get lost in illustrating and no particular sentiment to magnify. The day went on fast and fun with kids and mom at the studio making clay things and I'd forgotten how soft and squishy my insides were until we landed at the Sinnissippi Bandshell sitting among the populace waiting for the Phantom Regiment to take the stage.

You see, I grew up on the south side of Rockford near the Park-it-mark-it on Kishwaukee and some summer nights, while standing in the front yard one could hear the Phantom Regiment drum line practicing in the distance. And on one of those trips to the grocery with my mom where we begged her for candy, I instead begged for a grocery store toy and procured a sparkly white baton with rubber ends and I remember standing in the front yard pretending to be a majorette.  I'm sure I put on my shortest  shorts, tallest boots, and tied my grubby summer t-shirt in a knot at the belly and marched around twirling my grocery store baton occasionally catching myself in the shin with the end.  I think I spent a whole summer, maybe two, dreaming about marching in a parade.

I try to explain all of this nostalgia to my eight year as we wait for the band to take the stage.  He is extremely uninterested and wants nothing more than to run around the playground pretending to be Spider man. I beckon him nearer the stage with ice cream sandwiches so I can feel the drum line in my chest, the whole while poking the kid telling him he can play drums like that if he keeps up his lessons. He was nodding and looking wistfully back towards the playground.

For a day that started with me exclaiming all the music was too big, it seemed sort of funny to be watching a 150 piece band play my favorite memories so loud neighbors can hear it for miles. My eyes leaked again when we finally made it to the playground at the end of the concert and the kids clamored all over themselves for a turn on one of the three playground xylophones, each kid, including mine, trying to mimic the fast arms of the Regiment Xylophonists who played in the front of the band.  Well done Rockford, well done.