Are you going to write about this in your column?

I get that question quite a bit, and, honestly, I usually don't really know the answer until I actually sit down at the keyboard and start typing.

I do stay very busy, between work, home and church activities, so I usually have a variety of things from which to choose in selecting a topic.

I thought about complaining about the weather, but then I decided against it. The fellow in charge of that takes criticism well, but I find it wiser to be silent most of the time. In fact, the smarter I become, the less I speak.

On the other hand, those who know me well already know that I still talk quite a lot, so I have a good ways to go in reaching the pinnacle of wisdom. Don't we all? I still talk when I should be quiet, remain silent when I should speak and say too much when only a word or two would suffice.

Anyway, Saturday was too cold and damp for painting again. It seems I am having a hard time getting anything going. Since I already accepted a deposit and purchased the materials for the job, I fear a hit man may show up at my door if I don't get to work soon. When doing a job like this, I'm always impatient to get the work done as quickly as possible. This past Monday and Tuesday, the days I am most busy at the newspaper, offered spectacular weather. The temperature was somewhere in the low 70s, the sun was shining and the clouds were few.

The forecast for the weekend? A high of 40-something for Friday. I grow impatient sometimes waiting for my opportunity to take action. Perhaps I should be pleased that I have more time to do other things instead of painting, like watching the Steelers lose or not cleaning up the yard.

I was ready to work last week, with my ladder, extension arms for my rollers, brushes and other painting supplies loaded in the truck. However, I ended up at the home of a couple friends on a call for help that turned out to be a bit more than I bargained for.

It all started when they attended a dinner and ‘jam' session at my house, during which I was told that they needed someone to cut out a counter top to allow for the insertion of a sink. I was also told they needed a dishwasher installed.

Since these are two simple tasks, I figured I might ride over Saturday morning and knock those jobs out in a few minutes. Little did I know that I wasn't told that the sink was still in the old cabinet, which was still in the kitchen. Nor was I told that there had been an ongoing water leak and that the floor would need to be replaced, the old counters removed and the appliances and accoutrements of kitchen work moved to new homes.

"I didn't think you'd come if I was too specific," said his wife astutely. I wasn't overly taken aback, since alarm bells start tolling any time I hear the words, "I need help with a small job."

Since working for a friend is a noble undertaking, I didn't complain. Much. At least until my back started to hurt after I spent a couple hours assisting in breaking up the floor, which was particle board, and placing it in garbage bags. Also working with me was another friend, who also found himself unexpectedly wrapped up in the project.

As for the particle board, it is sheeting like plywood that is made of small pieces of wood and glue that often is used in flooring, but seldom ever in kitchens or bathrooms by those who care about the long- term implications. Sawdust and water don't work well together in one's floor, especially if you want to remain on top of the floor. After removing the old floor, the subfloor needed to be cleaned and allowed to dry before the new plywood and cabinets could be installed. That gave me an ample excuse to go home and get ready for an evening near the Blue Ridge Parkway listening to a renowned trumpet player. His name is Don Shire and he travels the country and the world in the ministry.

Not being a trumpet player myself, it is hard to really appreciate the finer points of really good trumpet music. I did, however, learn that it is best not to sit in the front middle row during a trumpet performance. (The trumpet is most likely the loudest brass instrument

I have ever sat 10 feet in front of for an hour or so). Luckily, the finer parts of my hearing already were destroyed by loud amplifiers as a young electric guitar player.

All kidding aside, the musicianship of this particular trumpeter was evident as he played songs that I recognized and others that I did not. The ability of a trumpet player is gauged in the range of sounds they achieve, as I understand it.

Since I am not familiar enough to gauge that ability, I instead listened to the flawless execution and ability to play through a variety of material seamlessly and enjoyed the bright clear call of the instrument in the still room.

Some of the songs had a Jewish feel, like "And the Trees of the Field will Clap their Hands." While I'd never heard the music, the words were familiar from Isaiah 55. Others were traditional songs I'd heard in church as a child, while still others were more modern songs I knew well.

I had the additional pleasure of watching a good friend, who also plays trumpet, perform the same evening. As you might imagine, he was my impetus for attending the event.

Nonetheless, it provided me with a much-needed restful evening, during which I was able to gain a bit of peace which I found once again in the auspices of a music-filled chapel.

Get more tongue in cheek commentary this week's issue of the Alleghany News!

Email: allnews@ls.net