If you’re not into hand drumming you probably won’t be nearly as fascinated by this as I was.
Picture this one:
My husband and were I goofing around on our respective instruments last night. He was playing Beatles on the bass guitar, while I banged on my djembe.
Not dichotomous enough for you? Wait, it gets better.
Never let it be said that I am bound by tradition.
We’re on the final week of classes. Every day has tests and/or projects due. If you see someone walking around with little cartoon angst lines emanating from her head, that would be me.
My drum instructor is teaching us a rhythm in 3/4 time. I don’t know if it’s the workload from school or just general ineptitude, but I can’t seem to get that mother down. Perhaps it’s just the fact that I haven’t had time to practice the damn thing this week.
My eldest just returned from the qualifier meet for the state Special Olympic games. He was tearing up the lanes; he came in first in all the heats he swam by himself. He swam the 100 meter backstroke in under two minutes.
By the time he swam the 200 meter freestyle he was tiring, but he was still going strong. He lapped two of the other swimmers in the heat. When they got to the end of their third lap they saw my kid climbing out of the pool, thought they were done, and started to get out as well. The coaches quickly turned them around to do their fourth lap.
I’m pretty sure he qualified.