As I am typing, the physical aspect of my fingers tapping the keys, moving across the keyboard is reminiscent of playing my clarinet. I have been thinking about it lately. Picking it up and playing again. I foun the familiar brown case with the tiny little crown on it in the jumble of things in the spare room, as well as the white and blue tattered folder with scores and scales that I have kept since the 7th grade. I love opening the case, selecting a reed and placing it in my mouth to moisten it while I piece together the black horn with silver keys.
I love my clarinet like I love an old friend. You know the ones that you can lose track of for months or years at a time and they are so excited to hear from you, the ones that don’t hold any grudges, the ones that don’t ask you where you’ve been, like they’ve been waiting all this time for you with nothing better to do when you know darn well they are just as busy as you. I've had a few of those friends who were just too much work and not worth maintaining. I let them go. Not my clarinet.
My clarinet is always happy when I pick it up no matter how long it has been put away. It responds to my fingers and breath in ways that are so beautiful, so satisfying. I have favorite pieces I can just play over and over again. I don’t always tongue the notes right or hold them the written length but nobody minds because nobody is there. I play for myself. Just my clarinet and I and all the mistakes I make. I can spend hours and it feels like a few minutes.
Right now I feel the same way about my writing. Thinking the thoughts, tapping the keys, remembering old friends, memories of things lost in the bustle of living life. I get to wander and nobody cares. I can get lost and nobody is telling me that I am on the wrong road. Here's to not knowing where I am going but willing to keep on this journey!
Great parallels here. I like when writing can evoke so much beyond what is on the page and you do that well with this one. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDeleteI like your connections between the clarinet and your writing. It is fun to pull out an old friend and begin again. I feel that way when I have not written in my journal for awhile. Thanks for making these connections.
ReplyDeleteEvocative analogy between old friends and (temporarily) set-aside musical instruments. I didn't expect this slice to end where it did, yet your concluding connection to writing lingers.
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