My trumpet. Hours of practice, scales, frustration and joy, conquering, first chair, pep band, music festivals. The camaraderie of being part of the band, belonging, escape, music that made me feel alive. Duets, solos, the pure tones of trumpet ringing out over the entire band. I have more depth of joyful memories with that trumpet than with any single thing I have owned.
And I didn't realize it until I pulled it out of storage and packaged it up to ship to my sweet niece who wants to learn to play the trumpet. I am full of joy sending it to her. But even so, I couldn't stop the tears from falling as the tape closed the box that will carry it to Montana. I tried to hold them in. Even willed myself to stop them.
Ascending the stairs in my home, I decided it was silly to hold those tears back. Those tears represented all the life giving moments of making music with that trumpet. So I sat in my bed and cried. And remembered. And smiled. And said thank you. Thank you to my parents for buying that beautiful silver trumpet. Thank you to Creator for having the idea of music. Thank you for the opportunity I had to learn such an enriching skill. Thank you to my band directors who saw my potential and encouraged me. Thank you to my classmates for the memories of band trips and bus rides and competitions galore.
I'm moving on from the trumpet. The reasons I chose to play the trumpet no longer exist. But I am dying to play music again. So I'm going to learn the clarinet. And maybe I have a new love affair waiting for me with the clarinet and Mozart. Maybe when I'm 80 I'll be handing over my love to my great granddaughter who is dying to learn to play the clarinet like her great grandma! Ya' never know. ;-)
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Thanks for sharing your respectful thoughts.