The house first yawns at 5:30 in the morning. The Tortoise slips into the shower. At 5:45 I feel DW roll out of bed and trudge to our bathroom while Luna and I snuggle deeper under the covers. No later than 6:10 I am in the kitchen prepping coffee, packing lunches and making a list of afternoon activities. By 6:45, the house is silent again. DW and The Tortoise have left for the day and The Hare will sleep until 9am. She is tucked away upstairs, buried under stuffed animals and too many pillows. The coffee pot has stopped gurgling, begging me to pour a cup.
I’m trying to force myself to write rather than read or go back to bed in this almost two-hour window of opportunity. Unfortunately, my half-asleep brain hasn’t been very productive and I just get lost in Facebook, other people’s blogs and email. Before I know it, The Hare is awake and our school day has begun. It is bed time before I get a chance to write, but by then, I’m too tired. Again.
Yesterday, I woke up with a blog post in mind. I had started writing it days ago and really just needed to finish, revise and post pictures. With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, and Luna snoring under my desk, I fell into a writing rhythm.
Suddenly, I started hearing a weird brassy sound from outside. It buzzed and rang loudly, piercing the peaceful morning.
“Perhaps my tinnitus is acting up,” I thought, “because surely no one would be practicing their trumpet outside at 7:30 in the morning.”
The very unskilled sounds of trumpet bleats continued to unnerve my concentration. Upon further investigation, I realized that the little boy across the street was indeed practicing his trumpet in his driveway. His parents leave early for work in the morning and a sitter stays until he gets on the bus. I waited a few seconds longer, hoping the sitter would end this torture. Nothing. So in desperation I stood on my front porch, trying to get his attention.
He saw me standing there in my pajamas and smiled.
He then walked into his open garage and continued playing as loud as he could, the sound reverberating even more obnoxiously off the concrete floor and empty walls.
This morning I poured my cup of coffee and attempted to be productive again, the high of finishing a blog post yesterday still on the tips of my fingers. I was ready. I had an idea.
And then, it happened again.
Only this time, instead of one trumpet, there were two and someone buzzing on their mouth piece. But, instead of being across the street, it was coming from the bus stop, at the top of my driveway. I didn’t want The Hare to wake up yet, so I raced out the door and up the driveway. Luna chased after me, shadowing my striped pajama-clad, fuzzy slipper-socked body. My unruly bed hair flying in the wind. Now I was mad. The three boys (one was my little friend from the previous morning) started shoving instruments back into their cases.
“Hurry up!” I heard someone shout, “She’s coming!”
Just then, the bus pulled up and the boys raced to be first. Grabbing the dog, I waited until all the kids were safely on the bus and had a word with the driver.
I could call their parents. I know each of them.
However, I’m also friends with their band director.