Hail to the Bus Driver

In the military, they say you can see the world. Well, for a strapping, young Army Reserve bandsman like me, that world is pretty small (thankfully). I'm left, instead, with dramatic, pitfall-laden tours to Colorado, Georgia, Kansas and Oklahoma City, all the while brassing my way through march after march, anthem after anthem.

But, every so often Ares stirs the temporal waters of man and everywhere, army bandsmen heed the call to arms.

Thus I found myself receiving additional battle training on Tuesday, prompted by the compelling words of my unit administrator.

"Hey Stuart, you wanna learn to drive a bus?"

"Sure."

Though the temporal waters have stilled and my training completed, it's only days, months or years until the call will be heard again over the grassy Sooner plains — a call the bandsmen will answer.

And the bandsmen came riding-
Riding-riding-
The bandsmen came riding, up to the old inn-door.

And they rode with a jewelled twinkle,
their trombone butts a-twinkle,
their clarinet hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.