Snow, Music Men and Reporting

My part of the world witnessed its first-0f-the-year snow flurry this morning. On my drive to work, the tiniest of snow squalls blew through the north suburbs. At about 7:50 a.m., I sat at a red light waiting to turn left into the compound that is the campus of the world headquarters where I toil, and while stopped I stared down the small white flakes beating against the windshield. I watched them evaporate on the glass of the car window.  The finest of snowflakes consisting of less than a pinhead of water. Thus begins Winter in Minnesota, even though its still officially fall for another six weeks (the first day of winter is not until Dec. 22 – as if that makes a difference).

Most everyone is familiar with the well-known musical, “The Music Man.” My son is involved in the junior high production of this Broadway smash, and the first performance went off without a hitch last night. His role may be tiny as a “townsperson” and “traveling salesman” who finds himself in the midst of River City, Iowa, but his Dad thought proud things about him as he sang and danced and said his one line. The seventh, eighth and ninth graders who put on the show and devoted the last two months of their lives getting ready for three performances all deserve a big parade of tipped hats and atta boys (and girls).

There’s a little drama in all of us, I believe. Even in real life, drama seems to ebb up and infiltrate regular goings on – if not daily than at least every now and then. Nothing wrong with a bit of drama as long as we recognize it for what it is and don’t let it steal us over from reality on a permanent basis.

Now and again I’m known to pick up a freelance writing gig. The assignments take me out of the normal routine and force me to write objective material versus the subjective pontifications that I leave on this venue. So on Sunday, Nov. 18, I’ll find myself at a benefit event raising money for survivors of Hurricane Katrina (yes there are still survivors and yes many still need financial support to rebuild the lives that were demolished more than two years ago). I’m anxious to get dressed up and report on the event, which will take me to the Dakota Jazz Club in downtown Minneapolis. There I’ll get to listen to some great Louisiana jazz and talk to various movers and shakers about why they do what they do to help others in need.

Not a bad way to end a weekend.

-end-

 

PS: When friends return to your life after absences, everything seems to make more sense.