One New Year's Eve, when I was very young, my sister told me that if I stayed up until midnight a marching band would come marching down our dirt road, and that there would be fireworks, and it would be a wonderful celebration. It sounded like the most lovely and magical way to ring in a new year. I sat in my dormer, fighting the sleep, looking out over our front yard and down the old dirt road just wishing that marching band would come a little faster.
That marching band never came. There were no fireworks. And my 5 year old heart was broken. (I still haven't quite forgiven Anna for her mean prank.)
Early this morning, as we were laying in bed, I heard what sounded like drums and horns. John Ralph ran into the living room and threw open the windows just in time for us to watch a marching band walk right in front of our house.
Why they decided early Sunday morning was the best time for a parade down the main street in Vicenza is beyond me, but don't you know the 5 year old inside of me was just beaming.
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