Weekend in Danville

I went home this weekend after what has amounted to the longest break from visiting Danville I've ever taken, around 5-6 months (I'm not entirely sure of the date of my last visit.) It was actually fun, for the most part. Sure, there was the usual Danville sketchy factor, but that always seems to happen. I returned home with a few of those good Danville Stories my friends love to hear, along with a little bit of my old accent. They always hear my accent and get tempted to join me for a trip home sometime. Next visit, I know for a fact I'm bringing a couple of the gang back with me, just so they can get the full experience, hopefully sometime in October after the humidity's fallen.

First, I got tricked by a conspiracy between my mom and my barber and now almost all of my hair is gone. Still, I kinda like going short every now again, at least during the summer, but my hair had fans, you know? Oh well, Rolfe Diamond WILL live to fight another day. I came to work this morning and my assistants were calling me "Ringo" so I guess it's not all that bad. I can deal with being a 1965 Beatle, if necessary. It's a big shock to everybody so far. My friend gave me a big hug this morning and said she knows I'm sad about it but she's happy she can see my eyes again.

Friday night was weird. I don't like being sober at night in Danville, especially at parties b/c I always feel a little too old, even more so when I realize that I'm talking to gorgeous 18 year-old girls who I taught how to swim when they were 7. However, the rousing reception I received from my friends really made me happy. I enjoy being cheered from time to time. I love seeing those guys and just hanging out, getting all caught up and enjoying ourselves. Dad and I went fishing early Saturday morning and caught about 100 fish, but they were all pretty small. Reidsville Lake is really beautiful and I'm mad that I forgot to take the camera in the boat. I visited my grandpa at the nursing home that afternoon. He really surprised me with his quick wit as I hadn't seen him that coherent and excited to see me since he first got sick a couple of years ago, cracking jokes and asking how many girls I was seeing this time. I was tempted to bust him out and go for a drive in the country like we used to, but it just wasn't in the cards. Apparently, Mom hipped the nurses to my old ways and they kept a strict eye on us. The instant I nonchalantly walked over to the wheel chair, our visit became somewhat supervised by nurses who were "just straightening things up." Oh well. Saturday night was fun. I met some new friends, saw my buddy Sparky's blues band, Maxwell Streets, and even danced a little. I know, I couldn't believe it either but I'm not going to turn down a girl twice when she just needs to dance. Sorry for the toes! That night ended in a bit of the usual Danville sketchiness, but all I'll say is that helping out people in need is both a gift and a curse sometimes. Luckily, someone's forlorn puppy apparently wandered by and helped out a bit.

Sunday morning started super-early (again) with my dad and I working on the car. I was a bit bleary-eyed and more than a bit hungover, but Martha the Jeep needed a tune up. Once we put in the new spark plugs and fixed the belt so it didn't scream all the time, we realized that it was well past time for a new muffler. Martha now sounds like a chorus of my friends from last summer, who visit every 17 years. Therefore, Martha, I christen thee "The Flying Cicada." However, whatever we did really improved gas mileage, so I can stand the rattle if my neighbors can as well. I also went to church. Here's where I write the part about Christianity and I not getting along and how I've been ejected from the Methodist church one too many times to forgive, organized religion bad, etc., etc., but you get the point. My childhood piano teacher, Bob Capen officially retired after the service and afterwards we had a reception. Bob has impacted my life in so many different ways. Everytime I sit down to teach a new student, I'm reminded of the lessons he taught me that I'm now passing on. I was a terror as a student, committing sins that my own students have paid me back tenfold. But, now as a teacher, I completely see the necessity of even my most hated of his lessons and can now appreciate him even more. Since moving away, I always try to stop by and have lunch with him when I'm in town and we've had some of my favorite conversations about life and the art of making music while slowly munching on peanut butter-filled celery stalks. I know that, while we'll continue to be friends and I'll always visit his garden in Greensboro on my way to Moore's Music, I'll miss him playing some crazy toccata or rare requiem on the organ the next time I'm trapped in a pew. As he finished his last official recessional piece, by Felix Mendelsohn (on of my favorite composers b/c he's also Bob's favorite), my mom cried. I'll admit, it was a little emotional for me too. The drive home was nice and lazy, including a brief stopover in a Charlottesville to say hi to a couple people and a lucky break from a state trooper (I didn't even have to namedrop!).

I'm working on a more serious article to post here rather than the usual prattle about how I spend my time. Of course, I got absolutely no work done on that this weekend but look out for it sometime this week.