My Mothers Day Retrospective
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At 3:00 in the morning on the Mexican holiday of the Dia de
Madres, I startled awake to the blast of a band playing outside my bedroom
window.
Naturally, I was out of bed in a flash and over to the
window to see what brought on such music in the night. Despite the fullish
moon, the sky held just enough clouds for the night to be dark. My window is
high from the street and nobody ever looks up. I was invisible in my perch.
In front of the house next door, a pickup truck had parked.
In the truck bed and around the truck were possibly a dozen, maybe more, band
members, playing every kind of instrument. And, they were good. I mean, really,
good. I watched as lights came on in various rooms of the neighbor’s house. Eventually,
someone came to the door, undoubtedly Mom, walked outside and stood at the
entry gate.
The band played at full heart. I didn’t eaves drop at the
window long, climbed back into bed and enjoyed the twenty minutes or
thereabouts of wonderful music, claiming the splash-over of the Mother’s Day
serenade for myself.
In Mexico Mother’s Day is a Big Deal. It is celebrated on
May 10 every year, no matter what day of the week that happens to be. This year
it was Saturday.
I’ve no pretensions to be a musician but I do know when
music is good, when it is tolerable, and when it can be dreadful.
At 3:00 the previous afternoon, I happened to be at my
kitchen window and saw the young neighbor boy leave the house with a beautiful
clarinet in hand. Ah, that answered a lot of questions I had about the
mysterious (to me) musician in the neighborhood. Frequently, I listened to
somebody practicing, often solo, but sometimes in company with other
instruments, usually traditional but often jazz. For a practice session, he or
they, was/were amazing.
What I found delightful is that the practice sessions were
lovely listening. So this young man, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, is a
good musician. No matter where life takes him, he will always have that.
On our Mexican Mother’s Day, I learned that people here in
Oconahua hire musical groups to serenade their Mothers. They move from street
to street, from house to house, bringing music and love and fun and surprise.
There are several bands, formal and informal, in our town.
This seems to be quite the musical community.
When I talk about the group who showed up outside my window,
I call them the “young band” only because I could see two young men with
clarinets on the north edge of the group, my neighbor and another young man.
Our band could have included all ages. It could have been a neighborhood youth
group. It was too dark for me to take a census.
The following day, another Mother’s Day, I enjoyed a visit
with friends, John and Carol, soon to head out for Minnesota. I served scones
and iced tea on the patio. A good time was had by all.
Sondra Ashton
HWC: Looking out my back door
May 15, 2025
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