Samba Sunday

 

Once again today, the parking lot was completely full at church, but we saw a couple leaving so we grabbed their spot quickly as others also circled around like sharks, looking for one. There was a baptism, which was probably part of the cause, and there were also kids from the school singing with the praise band, all dressed in neon shirts. They sure were cute. So many cute kids at church! Then Travalon and I did the process for recycling the plastic, and the guy who taught us last week was hovering around to help. The most complicated part is getting the luggage scale to work. I don't know what the company does with most of the plastic it recycles, but the church recycled enough last year that it got a plastic bench that I have personally sat upon. Maybe we'll get another one this year.

Today at my drum lesson it really started to click. Last week was helpful, with the singer and other instruments, but today I really, really heard how all the drum parts fit together, and how the drumming goes with the stepping. It's like a dance, and like choral singing. We were really playing samba! To my right were two other surdo players, including a really good one, and I was trying to follow what they were doing. To my left was the guy playing the reposta, and he was really screwing around and being on the wrong foot. He kept talking at one point, prompting the teacher to tell him to zip it. The really good surdo player said of course I couldn't keep track of where I was with him crashing into me. The reposta is the second biggest drum, playing a slightly higher note while the marcaçao plays the deepest note, and I could find my rhythm when the reposta player was in the right spot. They go boom BOOM boom BOOM, on the beat, and we are doing syncopated rhythms against them. When it all fits together, like the parts in a Victoria choral work, it's magical. And in case you are wondering, the reposta is pronounced heh-POST-ah because of course it is. In Brazilian Portuguese, all starting R's are pronounced as H's.  

Meanwhile, there was a protest I didn't learn about until later, and Travalon was watching the Badgers men's basketball team lose by 2 points in a heartbreaker against USC. When he got home, we ate dinner and then he took me to band practice. It was at the house of our newest fiddler, with her adorable toddler son, her husband, and her in-laws who are from Romania. Our leader the guitarist was there too, so at first she played the chords, and I played the melody to help the new fiddler who doesn't know the tunes, but this was on the mandolin so it doesn't make as much sound. Then Hardingfele came, and she is a strong fiddler who knows the tunes, so I went back to chords and ornaments and was having a great time when the leader asked what time it was. I suddenly realized it was the time Travalon was going to pick me up, and then he texted, so I headed outside. He brought me a decaf pandan latte, and as we drove home, we listened to "National Brotherhood Week" by Tom Lehrer because it seemed relevant. It felt even more relevant when I was on Night Prayer and someone was praying for these thugs who are murdering people in Minneapolis and justifying the murders. To quote Tom Lehrer, "Some people do not love their fellow man, and I hate people like that!" I intensely disliked this person from the get-go and felt very bad about that until finding out their extreme political position - now I feel justified in my disgust. 

For the last few days I have felt like something wonderful is coming, even though I have no evidence for this and things just keep getting worse in this country. I did feel like something terrible was coming just before the pandemic, but upon further reflection maybe my joy is just from making a lot of music with other people lately. I did have a wonderful dream several nights ago about all the joy I've shared with Travalon when we stood in shared awe together, but then again I also had a dream very recently where the Pink Panther ran a restaurant, and all the employees were also Pink Panthers, but they were dressed in Brazilian costumes and playing music instead of working. Travalon had one recently about a purple bridge with a cartoon face trying to kill him. Do any of these dreams mean anything? I think one of mine just means I have samba on the brain. With apologies to Peter Tosh, I have samba-myelitis.

Famous Hat