Hello there! How are you?

I”m doing well, thank you very much. 🙂

So I mentioned I play the clarinet. Had I told you about it a few years ago, I would’ve used the past tense.

I started on the clarinet in fourth grade. The summer before fifth grade, we moved to a different state where the local school district didn’t begin the band program until sixth grade. I didn’t play at all in fifth grade, and when middle school started in sixth grade, I took beginning band.

Now, sixth grade was a long time ago, so I don’t remember all the ins and outs of my class, but I do recall learning along with other clarinetists. When I was in fourth grade, I remember learning with all instruments together. When I got to a clarinet-only environment in sixth grade, I quickly learned I had missed out on a few key concepts while in the whole-band environment: most notably my embouchure (the way you hold your mouth).

Mr. Wren, my sixth grade beginning band teacher, stayed on me for having my embouchure all wrong. The notes section of my report card consistently indicated I talked too much in class and I needed to strengthen my embouchure. I immediately regretted my mother ever learning the concept of embouchure, and I continued to regret it all the way through high school, as she would harangue me about it (At least it felt like haranguing to high school me, but as a parent now, I better understand. It was most likely her way of connecting with me about something I enjoyed that she didn’t really understand.).

I don’t remember catching much parental heat for talking too much in class. I still maintain it wasn’t my fault. How could we not create a little chant and chair dance to go with the “L” section of our daily roll call? And perform it daily while giggling through attendance? And how could I not laugh every time Mr. Wren told us to put our instruments in our “cubbyholes?” I found the phrase “cubbyholes” hilarious, especially since at first I had no idea what it meant. “Cubbyhole” seemed like just one of many foreign phrases in my new part of the country.

Eventually in sixth grade band, we did join the other instruments and even had a concert. The highlight of the concert was a tornado touching down on the roof of the auditorium and the lights blinking out while we continued plodding along to “March of the Elephants.”

I improved my embouchure quite a bit and became an adept clarinetist. I played all through middle school and high school and even became a section leader in marching band. I loved marching season. Don’t get me wrong; I loved concert season, too. But something special happened out there on the football field, where we all played and marched and color guarded to create 15 minutes of magic. Certain sights, smells, and sounds immediately transport me back: an orange hazy sunrise, the smell of pet food manufacturing wafting through the air, and too many sounds to name them all. Just hearing strains from certain songs brings me to tears (in a good way); if I were to hear “Band, ten-hut,” I would instinctively hoof it to my spot; and, even today, if I hear someone yell, “Eyes,” which admittedly doesn’t happen much, my response is to yell, “With pride,” with my whole chest.

Band wasn’t just an important part of my life; it was the defining activity of my life. Oh, I did all sorts of things, but band served as my grounding point, my home.

And for whatever reasons, I stopped playing in college. I have reasons, of course, but as I look back on them, I wonder what I was thinking. Ah, to be in your late teens and early twenties and so sure that your life and your abilities will never change.

In the 30 year span between when I stopped playing my clarinet and when I picked it up again, I made some half-hearted forays into playing, but I sounded awful. And that made me so sad I would typically stop playing.

Then around 2021, I decided I wanted to play again, so I looked up local community bands. I eventually found the After Hours Community Band, and with fear and trembling, I worked up the courage to reach out. After being on the wait list for about a year, I got the email asking if I were still interested in joining. I answered with a resounding “Yes!” and joined the band in the summer of 2023. I’ve been in the band for two years now, and I’m not half bad. I’m not nearly as adept as I was when I graduated from high school, but neither am I an embarrassment to the clarinet section.

I am having so much fun. God has brought me back to something I love and enjoy, and I am so grateful.

That said, I have to run. I have rehearsal soon, and I have a few things to do before heading out the door.

And that’s my bit of creativity for today.