Horning In by Rick Smith
January 16, 2022
Horning In
By Rick Smith
HONK-HONK!
It wasn’t the first time I’d been honked at by an impatient driver. And, maybe I could have entered the roundabout sooner.
But I was a little tired after singing and playing guitar in the Carefree Gardens as part of a Carefree Spring promotion. I’d just finished loading-out my gear and was headed home.
As I entered the roundabout the driver behind me followed and continued to honk. “Something must be wrong,” I said to myself as I turned into the Chase Bank parking lot. I expected the horn honker to do the same, but he continued driving straight ahead on Tom Darlington Boulevard. I got out of my vehicle and checked all around it, but nothing seemed to be wrong.
“Simple impatience,” I said to myself regarding the double horn honk I’d received.
Exiting the Chase Bank lot from a different access, I returned again to the same roundabout where the horn honk happened. I turned right onto Tom Darlington and instantly was startled by a terrible mess of loose-leaf paper sheets strewn all along the street, even across the median. I speculated that an improperly covered truck had lost the papers as it traveled along .
A short distance later I then spotted what appeared to be a white binder. The binder was open and had been run over by cars. White sheets of paper clung to flattened binder rings.
And then I knew.
The Mystery of the Double Horn Honk was solved. The white binder was my binder. Mr.
Honker was not being impatient at all. He was trying to be helpful, honking to alert me that I’d left my binder of songs on top of my vehicle after I left the Carefree Gardens. By the time I stopped in the Chase Bank lot, the binder had already slipped off the roof of my car. And when I returned to the roundabout a second time, the binder had been run over several times and my sheet music had fluttered down Tom Darlington on.
What was I going to do? The answer, my friend, was blowing in the wind. I had to retrieve as many songs as I could. I parked again in the Chase Bank lot and began my quest down the street. I really had no choice.
These pieces of paper were more than sheet music. They were my children, of sort, brought to life individually to best allow me to perform them. I had re-keyed each song to best suit my limited vocal range. I had retyped each song in 16-point type so I could easily read the lyrics. I had carefully placed chord changes where they belonged above lyrics. I included the songwriter’s name on each song to share with audiences. I also had notations on each song about settings for background percussion on an electronic drum machine. And each sheet of paper had been placed inside a plastic sleeve.
So away I went, choosing to go down the street to the piece of paper I perceived to be furthest away . Then I would work my way back. The wind blew, I watched papers flutter and I hustled. A few minutes later I saved the song that had drifted furthest away. I looked at its title: Sentimental Journey. smiled and hustled on. It took me about 30 minutes to retrieve them all, but mostly it took determination . At first the sheets were all over the place, but one by one I retrieved all forty-seven of them.
Or at least I thought I had.
Back in the car as I am preparing to be on my way, I spot one last sheet of paper across the street way on the other side of the median. Ugh. By now I am more than a little tired and I debate momentarily about even going to get it .
But I could not make an orphan out of this final piece of sheet music so away I went on my last roundup. When I got to the paper and looked to see what song it was, I shook my head when the title proclaimed to me: / Love How You Love Me.
Lesson learned from this tale.
A honking horn may not mean scorn. Something I’ have changed my tune about.
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