It's been a whirlwind of a weekend, and the end of an era. Daughter No, 2 (let's call her Eustacia) graduated from high school Friday evening. The ceremony is pretty simple with a few speeches, and then each student walks up when their name is called to get their diploma and shake the hand of the president of the school board. With all due respect to that man, telling these kids they have the tools they need to succeed in life because they know how to beat the rival school on game day is one of the shallowest and untrue things he could have told them. Let's hope they weren't listening.
On Saturday, Eustacia marched in a parade as part of the Canal festival. Small Town was built along the Erie Canal, and every year we have a festival with greasy carnie rides, greasy carnie games, and greasy carnie food because all of those things have something to do with the history of the era of canals. At the end of the parade, the band regroups for a stand-up concert.
After that, we went to two graduation parties, and then I delivered three chicken pot pies to help feed the residents of the homeless shelter, and then I went to the festival for my own band concert. It wasn't until I got home from that event that I could relax with a glass of wine and some slow breathing.
On Sunday, I drove an hour through some of the remotest farm country I have ever driven through with winding hilly roads that snaked through woods and fields to attend my good friend Shannon's wedding reception. She was married earlier in California but had a party here for her Ohio family. On this crazy drive, I discovered the birthplace of General George Armstrong Custer. It's a dump.
On Monday, I went to the Memorial Day ceremony, which I told you about yesterday. After that event, Eustacia turned in her band uniform, and that's the end of that. I will never have to keep track of all the pieces of those things again or have them dry cleaned or make sure the shoes are bright white. Sigh. I told the kid it was the end of an era, but since she has joined the marching band in college for next fall, she recognized that a new era will begin soon enough. Then I went to another graduation party and played another band concert of my own all through the threat of thunder storms.
Phew. Today, I can really dig into what needs to be done to get ready for Eustacia's own graduation party this coming Sunday. I'm on it. Here's an idea—daughter No. 1's name begins with a K. Name suggestions?
I leave you with a video of Eustacia's final marching band performance. The trumpets were on the other side of the band, so you'll have to watch the clarinets. Enjoy.