Happy Birthday!
They’ve been going at it for more than thirty minutes now—since 6:45AM when we were awakened—so I guess half an hour's not the length of time for which they’ve been hired. Some kind of celebration, that’s for sure. From our cozy bed we kept waiting for them to move on—the usual route down to the plaza and church, if it’s religious, or to the charro ring, if secular—but no, they stayed put, and damned close to our casa. And LOUD.
I finally rousted myself, put on shorts and tee and shuffled through sala and comedor, out the pasillo to the front gate and source of sound. The music had become deafening as I approached the group arrayed on the cobbles in the street in front of our house. And likewise in front of our neighbors. Francisco, the dad—he of boastful gestures—was swaggering among the musicians. Relatives were passing trays of sweetbreads and a sugary coffee drink—muchas gracias—and mamá was on the sidewalk smiling with all the hugs and kisses she was getting. It was her birthday.
And now, an hour after its first brassy and percussive notes, the band has begun dispersing. From the left we’ve had two trombones, two trumpets, two clarinets, a flugelhorn, two congas, a two-person trap set advertising La Misma Banda—The Same Band—and una tuba. I reckon there will be another party tonight.
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