No rest for the wicked, part 2

The wedding, the vineyard, the bar-hopping and sailor-spotting, and way too much drinking overall had definitely taken its toll by the wee hours of Sunday morning. Dumpling and I wanted nothing more than to pass out and sleep blissfully for as long as humanly possible.

I woke up confused on Sunday morning. Were those...bagpipes? Why, yes. Yes, they were. At 8:00 AM. In the street. Directly in front of my apartment.

For a few blurry, half-asleep moments I really believed that I was dreaming. What were all those voices? It sounded like someone giving a speech over a sound system. Did I just hear drums?

I went to the window and looked down. There in the middle of our street was a marching band, color guard, two rows of sailors in uniform, a microphone, speakers, and a small crowd.

What the...? Then I remembered. We are two doors down from an American Legion post.

They had a ceremonial military mass on Sunday morning in honor of Memorial Day. In theory, I shouldn't have been upset about this. It's only once a year, I love marching bands, it probably would have been fun to watch from the balcony, and it makes a great story.

However.

I was so unbelievably shagged out from the festivities of the last 36 hours that all I could do was groan and cover my ears. Dumpling was up briefly, saw what was going on, and went back to sleep. Dumpling is what you call a sound sleeper. I, on the other hand, wake up if someone clears his throat. I knew the man could sleep, but I can now say without exaggerating that HE SLEPT THROUGH A MARCHING BAND PERFORMANCE.

Technically, however, they weren't marching--they were standing a stone's throw from our window. And I have no idea what the bagpipes were doing there, besides annoying the living shit out of me. I hate bagpipes, and it wasn't just one set--we're talking multiple bags, multiple pipes. Maybe it's an East Coast thing, but where I come from a marching band ensemble is considered complete without those cursed, caterwauling contraptions.

I tried earplugs, but the noise was too loud for their tiny foam bodies to muffle. So I found my ipod and played some chakra-balancing new age music that's supposed to calm and relax you. It sort of worked: I drifted back and forth between sleeping and waking for the next hour and a half while they did their business outside.

There were sermons. Salutes. The national anthem. Taps. Et cetera.

The silver lining is that my grampa will love hearing about this. I wish I had taken some pictures to share with him, but that morning I didn't even have the alertness or coordination to make coffee, let alone get dressed and go outside.

Next year I'll know what to expect, and I'll try my hardest to take it easy the night before. Then I'll be prepared to have some live music with my breakfast, and maybe even call my grampa and "conference him in."

But I'll still keep some ear plugs handy for when those fucking bagpipes start up.