Seven Years to Make a Piper

Last night was band practice.

Our Fearless Leader was late, arriving at 2030 without his pipes.

We had already run through quite a large number of tunes for the concert, and were all sweaty and tired. I was hoping he would walk in, though, when we actually WERE practicing, but instead we were taking a break when he edged through the door, PC in hand. He believed Pete when Pete told him actually had been practicing. So that was good. Sean ran through Blue Bonnets and 100 Pipers and then we did Clumsy Lover (not very well, I might add) and he crabbed at us about Farewell to Nigg, the oil rig tune.

I was listening to the classical music radio station, and the DJ was interviewing a famous conductor about preparing for a concert, and "crabbing" was the conductor's term for keeping at people to "Get It Right, Stupid!", so this is an official musical term.

We definitely deserved to be crabbed at, though, so Crab Away, Sean.

While we were paused from piping, Jack walked up to me and looked me straight in the eye and said, "I was going to tell you last week . . ." and he proceeded to tell me that (in his opinion) I have improved tremendously since fall, that I have obviously been working at it, and it was paying off, and I sounded wonderful, and he thanked me for keeping at it. I thanked him for taking the time to tell me. I accept any and all compliments. Jack's opinion is as good as the next piper's, and other people have told me this, too, so it must be true. I know I can hear other people's mistakes a lot more, and I'm starting to be able to tell when drones or a chanter note is out of tune. Perhaps the two are concurrent.I feel much better. . . all warm and fuzzy inside.