Feet hitting the pavement carry me at an amiable pace under the cloudy night sky. The scent of the sea lifts from the tops of the slowly lapping waves and beckons, its tendrils enticing my nostrils, which can be found about a block away. The bag in my right hand knocks comfortably against the side of my knee as if trying to keep rhythm with my steps. As I walk along, worrying about nothing more significant than where my next step will land, a strange sight meets my eyes. Through the garage-door windows of an auto-parts store I see a gray-haired gaggle handling oddly-shaped pieces of brass and wood. The Gaggle and their implements aren't strange-looking to me at all. They just seem out of place. As near as I can figure, they're some sort of comminuty band that's playing in the cargo bay of an auto parts store. I stand outside and observe for a few minutes, then step inside and listen. Within a half hour, I'm sitting behind a drumset brushing off a dusty sense of rhythm to join the North Coast Big Band in a swing number. Thirty minutes later I don my jacket, place my bag in my right hand where it belongs, and quietly slip out the door. I've played one song and enjoyed a few others. Ah, music!
- March 14th, 2001
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