I called up the guy who moves house trailers for me. He’s going to bring me a trashed out 3br 1990 singlewide he’s pulling out of a park. Exactly what I need to keep going for the next few weeks.
Anyway, I’ve been bothering Mike daily for a week, trying to get him to hurry up and get it over here so I can get the outside work done before it’s too cold and before my crew runs out of work to do on the three trailers sitting here now.
I said, “Mike… It’s Jerry. I’m calling to pester you about that trailer.”
“OK,” he said. “You’re a good pesterer. I’ll try to talk to the park manager tomorrow. What’re you up to?”
“I’m tweaking a whistle. Would you like me to play you a tune?”
“Sure.”
I play “Danny Boy” on a Shaw low D I’m almost finished tweaking.
He says, “Wow. I thought it was going to be just a regular whistle. That’s a real instrument.” (“Regular whistle” would mean referee’s whistle.)
We talk about whistles for awhile. I play “Banish Misfortune” on a soprano D whistle. (I use the word “play” loosely.)
Anyway, I’m enjoying the effect of just popping up with a simple tune for someone out of the blue. Most people seem to like that.
I’ve a ritual I go through with the woman who runs the village post office. Whenever a whistle shows up in the mail (which is often), I open the box at the post office and try out the whistle for her benefit. She’s gotten pretty good at recognizing the ones that need a lot of tweaking and the ones that are OK players already.
The people at the hardware store have been serenaded numerous times. And I’ve already told you about the village welder and his guitarist bike buddy, Ritchie.
Best wishes,
Jerry
