Homecoming

The Davis High homecoming parade was exciting!  The band kicked it off with the school fight song.  With our firstborn in a two-foot-high feather cap, I felt a new sense of Homecoming. My grandmother Golda was a Dart, my dad was a Dart, my mom taught there and Scott and I fell in love in the halls of Davis High.  (Coach Gardner's US history class, to be exact.)  So Homecoming means something.

It was Golda's first and only time wearing the whole uniform, other than the Rose Parade, since she is a "Rose Parade Only" member of the marching band.  It was thrilling for Scott and me to see Golda decked out and watch her march by.  In the video, you can hear us remarking that the Rose Parade will be just like that.  Short! 

Golda has a love-hate, but mostly just hate, relationship with the flute.  She thinks she wants to quit, but she can't bring herself to do it.  She has a new teacher, which was a hard transition but is great.  We miss Jane and Scott misses the Saturday drives to Sugarhouse, but Golda's new teacher is in Kaysville and is very renowned.

With the new energy provided by a new teacher, I bribed and cajoled Golda into trying out for Davis Youth Symphony.  She was texting me from the audition, "I hate this.  I don't know anyone.  I am not going to make it!"  When I picked up Golda from ballet today, I had the result letter in the car.  Golda said, "Oh great, here's the letter saying 'We're sorry you didn't make it this year, but please try again next year, you're all winners, blah blah blah.'"  She opened the letter and promptly threw it down in disgust, saying, "Ugh!  I made it!"  Then she glared at me.  But I saw a small, triumphant smile.  It might have just been a reflection of my beaming face.  They only took two flutes!  And now Golda gets the chance to play in an orchestra!  She is mad beside herself with enthusiasm.

I bet Golda wishes she were in Ari's shoes.  At Ari's cello lesson Friday, one of my violin customers at the shop got her shoe caught on Ari's endpin and went down hard on the cello.  It was epic.  The cello is toast, complete toast.  The neck is broken, the top is smashed.  There are seven top-to-bottom cracks in the top.  And the woman's leg was badly bruised.  I consoled the poor woman as best I could, (it wasn't her fault!) and then Ari and I sat down with her teacher and just went, "Wow."  There was nothing to do but laugh.  I called my supplier right away to order a new cello, which will be here Wednesday.  Until then, Ari has the best excuse in the world not to practice, and it's sitting on our mantle in three hideously damaged pieces.  Too bad for Golda, flutes are harder to kill by virtue of being harder to trip over.  I'm sure there's a way, but let's not think about that right now.  I'm still plotting how to resurrect the cello.  I posted a picture of it on Facebook and Trajan commented, "Must have been Shostakovich."  That is the kind of reference that I think is sooo funny, that Golda will be able to laugh at after a few months of orchestra.  Not that she aspires to be nerdy like that, but I appreciate her willingness to try.  Thanks for not throwing the audition, Golda.  Love ya!