I have thin lips. I know this because, in 6th grade, all the kids who wanted to be in the concert band had to line up while the teacher inspected our faces to determine which instrument we should play. I learned then that I had thin lips, which meant I would play the flute. My sister, however, had big, full lips, and it was decided for her that she would play the French Horn. Off we went— a flute player and a French horn player, skipping down that yellow brick road to band practice, concerts, and competitions for the next six years. We practiced after school and even put on a few shows at home, complete with handmade programs and refreshments served at intermission. I also played baritone sax in the high school jazz band, so later, we added that instrument to our home productions.
I remember my sister would have a chapped ring around her lips, and her face would be red from blowing air through what must have seemed like miles of brass tubes—she always could hold a lot of air. When we were younger, we had a swimming pool in the backyard of our home in California. She could swim the entire pool length underwater, holding her breath. Taking a deep breath is something she’s always been good at, and I suppose it has served her well through the years of raising four kids and a husband.
Anyway, back to making music. After I graduated, I packed up my flute and sold it to a younger classmate. I later went on to focus my efforts on bass guitar, guitar, and writing songs. Since then, I’ve picked up the flute again a handful of times, including a locally-made Native American flute, which I love to play.
A couple of weeks ago, Mickey and I discovered a small music store in a town not far from here. While he and the owner talked about guitars and amps, I rummaged around the tiny store and discovered a flute sitting on top of some speakers in the back. It was in good shape. I’m guessing it was probably owned by a student who lost interest. I inquired about the price, and we went on our way.
Yes, I went back and bought the flute. I’ve been taking it along on my morning walks and remembering things like scales, fingerings, and breath control while my pup Dennis goes about his usual meanderings. The funny thing is, my fingers seem to know what to do, but my mind makes it feel like I’m learning to drive a clutch again, lurching forward and stalling again and again. Leave it to my mind to make something much harder than it needs to be. Regardless, I’m having fun remembering.
What if trying something new or old was as simple as remembering? Like riding a bike, skiing, or doing a cartwheel. What I do know for certain is that remembering is a slow process, just like learning something the first time. I don’t get all of the information at once. Instead, it comes in little bits and pieces that gradually add up and are sprinkled with just enough “ah ha” moments to keep me going. Today, I cheer on that younger version of myself, along with the older version, and every attempt to get it right.
With all the YouTube videos and social media posts, it would be easy to convince myself that I fall short, that I’m not good enough, smart enough, young enough…or just plain enough. Thankfully, I know better. I’m learning and remembering my way through life. Every day is the best I’ve got at the moment. Yesterday, my best was remembering how to play a c sharp on the flute. Today, the c sharp came easy.
Each day, I add another piece to this larger-than-life jigsaw puzzle. And when I find one that fits, I smile at that 6th grader from a few years back. I wiggle a little victory dance, give her a high five, and say, “Yes, you go, girl!”