For nine years I played clarinet. Roughly four of those years were bass clarinet. Five of them were bari sax. Two or three was dedicated for the bass.
I didn't come from a musical family- save my older brother who went on to play his sax in college orchestra, everyone else was into sports. Baseball, football, hockey, you name it, and someone in my family probably played it. Don't get me wrong, I played my fair share of tennis, volleyball, and rugby over the years, but growing up I was more of your ballet/gymnastics/I'm-gonna-be-a-hair-stylist-and-rule-the-world kinda gal.
It all started with Sister Donna, our pastor's wife, who played beautifully on her sax every Sunday mornin in church. There wasn't anything boring about her playing. Well. About her, for that matter. The smooth sounds of her jazz, her soul, her love- all poured into that instrument to make anyone listen up and get excited. I thought it might be nice one day to learn how to make such a sound.
However, when I got into the sixth grade, the year that everyone was choosing their instruments they were interested in, playing the sax was off limits. Being the little sister of a boy who was already playing the sax, I didn't want to be a copy-cat. When our band teacher was going over the list of instruments and giving a preview for each of them, I was in la la land. (I didn't really have the attention span of a meditating monk, but then again at the age of eleven, what kid does?) Then I saw it. What our band director called "licorice sticks". The clarinet. Being a little bit of a dark child, I think I might have been more attracted to the fact it was a black sleek looking toy with fancy silver decorations than I actually was to the fact it made such a wonderful sound. He played a fast chromatic scale up and then down again and I was hooked.
That was my sound. That was the sound I grew to love. Then he showed us the clarinet family, and when I saw that big son of a bitch you had to sit on the floor just to play, I knew I was going to love what I was getting myself into.
My mum was okay with it. She was just glad her kids all had something to occupy our time with but there was a problem: I didn't have a clarinet. Hell, in the type of house we grew up in, you were lucky if you found a whistle tucked away and forgotten in a drawer. Problem number two, I didn't come from money. We were a working family, one that fixed our own cars, made our own entertainment, and "vacation" for us was driving to the mountains in our backyard and camping with everyone else in the damn town. My mum was worried about renting a clarinet and didn't exactly have a spare $500 to get a cheap one.
When we got to church that Sunday, my mum mentioned it to her bible study gals that she was in search of a clarinet because yet again, another one of her children gone soft. She prayed about it and I used my director's clarinet for the time being for the first couple weeks and by that second Sunday after it was mentioned, my mother's prayers had been answered.
My mum summoned me to the back of the church during the Greeting. One of the church women was smiling and holding a small suitcase looking box. "I knew you were looking for a clarinet. I was out and about this weekend at a few garage sales like I usually do and I saw this on a table. Five dollars! I just had to get it. I'm not sure what kind of shape it's in, but I hope it's useable."
She clicked open the trick locks on the suitcase-box and opened it to a red velvety inside with a beautiful little licorice stick. My mum and I hugged her and thanked her and assured her we would ask my band director about it the next day at school.
Monday he took a look at my new find. "Needs new cork." He says, picking up the individual pieces and inspecting them carefully, "And these buttons here are a little sticky. Might need replacing," He says, showing me the keys that were having a little trouble on their own. I gave a look of disappointment. "Lucky for you, I know how to repair these things." I smiled and thanked him. "Also, this is a professional Selmer mouthpiece. A very nice instrument. You should be happy."
So it begun. I had a clarinet. One that lasted me for years. Playing in quartets, jazz bands, pep band, having solos, performing for state competitions.... oh yes. That clarinet went with me everywhere. From middle school to high school to college and across the states from Montana to Mississippi.
After college I stopped playing. My love for the instrument didn't die, just my opportunity to play the thing did. You get caught up in life and other aspirations and goals and sometimes the things you love most change over time. My clarinet sat idly by in my apartment, every once in a while being taken out for cleaning or to noodle around on the keys with.
When I moved a couple other times and each time selling things I could and throwing away what I couldn't, the clarinet followed.
It doesn't deserve this fate. I should probably sell it before, again, it becomes a dusty licorice stick that needs new cork because over the years it forgot to be greased.
Being connected on some yard sale pages on Facebook, I posted that I was selling a clarinet for $200 or would go with the best offer. A day later a woman responded, asking how low I would go. I informed her I was just ball parking what I should let it go for. I wasn't doing anything with it and the extra cash would be a bonus.
She told me it was for her daughter who had just chosen to play the clarinet in her school band class. The family didn't have a lot to rent one and was trying to find something cheap. She didn't have $200 and was seeing about a lower price.
My little heart tingled. I remembered being in that situation. I remember being a little girl that wanted her own licorice stick and was understanding that her mum couldn't afford a new one. I told the woman a place to meet me and I would bring her the clarinet.
Waiting at the Shell gas station, I made sure all the music I played over the years was still tucked inside the hidden case compartment. I thumbed through, reminiscing on the music and the parts I had for each of the songs. The scales, the warm ups, the little notes made in pencil for my own reference... and as my own little goodbye, sealed an envelope with the story of the clarinet folded inside for the little girl.
I saw her in the car she described and it wasn't hard for her to spot my Beetle. I got out of the car with the clarinet and I almost wanted to jump with excitement when I saw who came out of the car....
From her purple cat rimmed glasses to whatever kind of massacre of bright colours she was wearing to the way she wore her hair in pigtails, I knew, I KNEW the life of the clarinet would continue on. She was a badass. I knew just from looking at her. She marched to her own licorice stick, that was for sure. "I want to bless you with this clarinet, like it was to me. I want you to have it and I don't want to charge you anything. I was in her shoes once and I know what it's like to appreciate what is given to me."
"Really?? Are you sure?"
I looked at the little girl and smiled at her while replying to her mum, "Yes ma'am," as I handed her the envelope, telling her a gist of the contents. She hugged me, "Tell her thank you," she motioned to her daughter, and the little badass did so.
I drove away feeling good, knowing my little clarinet was going to a good home and to someone that needed it, not stuck on a shelf to be stared at.
I didn't come from a musical family- save my older brother who went on to play his sax in college orchestra, everyone else was into sports. Baseball, football, hockey, you name it, and someone in my family probably played it. Don't get me wrong, I played my fair share of tennis, volleyball, and rugby over the years, but growing up I was more of your ballet/gymnastics/I'm-gonna-be-a-hair-stylist-and-rule-the-world kinda gal.
It all started with Sister Donna, our pastor's wife, who played beautifully on her sax every Sunday mornin in church. There wasn't anything boring about her playing. Well. About her, for that matter. The smooth sounds of her jazz, her soul, her love- all poured into that instrument to make anyone listen up and get excited. I thought it might be nice one day to learn how to make such a sound.
However, when I got into the sixth grade, the year that everyone was choosing their instruments they were interested in, playing the sax was off limits. Being the little sister of a boy who was already playing the sax, I didn't want to be a copy-cat. When our band teacher was going over the list of instruments and giving a preview for each of them, I was in la la land. (I didn't really have the attention span of a meditating monk, but then again at the age of eleven, what kid does?) Then I saw it. What our band director called "licorice sticks". The clarinet. Being a little bit of a dark child, I think I might have been more attracted to the fact it was a black sleek looking toy with fancy silver decorations than I actually was to the fact it made such a wonderful sound. He played a fast chromatic scale up and then down again and I was hooked.
That was my sound. That was the sound I grew to love. Then he showed us the clarinet family, and when I saw that big son of a bitch you had to sit on the floor just to play, I knew I was going to love what I was getting myself into.
My mum was okay with it. She was just glad her kids all had something to occupy our time with but there was a problem: I didn't have a clarinet. Hell, in the type of house we grew up in, you were lucky if you found a whistle tucked away and forgotten in a drawer. Problem number two, I didn't come from money. We were a working family, one that fixed our own cars, made our own entertainment, and "vacation" for us was driving to the mountains in our backyard and camping with everyone else in the damn town. My mum was worried about renting a clarinet and didn't exactly have a spare $500 to get a cheap one.
When we got to church that Sunday, my mum mentioned it to her bible study gals that she was in search of a clarinet because yet again, another one of her children gone soft. She prayed about it and I used my director's clarinet for the time being for the first couple weeks and by that second Sunday after it was mentioned, my mother's prayers had been answered.
My mum summoned me to the back of the church during the Greeting. One of the church women was smiling and holding a small suitcase looking box. "I knew you were looking for a clarinet. I was out and about this weekend at a few garage sales like I usually do and I saw this on a table. Five dollars! I just had to get it. I'm not sure what kind of shape it's in, but I hope it's useable."
She clicked open the trick locks on the suitcase-box and opened it to a red velvety inside with a beautiful little licorice stick. My mum and I hugged her and thanked her and assured her we would ask my band director about it the next day at school.
Monday he took a look at my new find. "Needs new cork." He says, picking up the individual pieces and inspecting them carefully, "And these buttons here are a little sticky. Might need replacing," He says, showing me the keys that were having a little trouble on their own. I gave a look of disappointment. "Lucky for you, I know how to repair these things." I smiled and thanked him. "Also, this is a professional Selmer mouthpiece. A very nice instrument. You should be happy."
So it begun. I had a clarinet. One that lasted me for years. Playing in quartets, jazz bands, pep band, having solos, performing for state competitions.... oh yes. That clarinet went with me everywhere. From middle school to high school to college and across the states from Montana to Mississippi.
After college I stopped playing. My love for the instrument didn't die, just my opportunity to play the thing did. You get caught up in life and other aspirations and goals and sometimes the things you love most change over time. My clarinet sat idly by in my apartment, every once in a while being taken out for cleaning or to noodle around on the keys with.
When I moved a couple other times and each time selling things I could and throwing away what I couldn't, the clarinet followed.
It doesn't deserve this fate. I should probably sell it before, again, it becomes a dusty licorice stick that needs new cork because over the years it forgot to be greased.
Being connected on some yard sale pages on Facebook, I posted that I was selling a clarinet for $200 or would go with the best offer. A day later a woman responded, asking how low I would go. I informed her I was just ball parking what I should let it go for. I wasn't doing anything with it and the extra cash would be a bonus.
She told me it was for her daughter who had just chosen to play the clarinet in her school band class. The family didn't have a lot to rent one and was trying to find something cheap. She didn't have $200 and was seeing about a lower price.
My little heart tingled. I remembered being in that situation. I remember being a little girl that wanted her own licorice stick and was understanding that her mum couldn't afford a new one. I told the woman a place to meet me and I would bring her the clarinet.
Waiting at the Shell gas station, I made sure all the music I played over the years was still tucked inside the hidden case compartment. I thumbed through, reminiscing on the music and the parts I had for each of the songs. The scales, the warm ups, the little notes made in pencil for my own reference... and as my own little goodbye, sealed an envelope with the story of the clarinet folded inside for the little girl.
I saw her in the car she described and it wasn't hard for her to spot my Beetle. I got out of the car with the clarinet and I almost wanted to jump with excitement when I saw who came out of the car....
From her purple cat rimmed glasses to whatever kind of massacre of bright colours she was wearing to the way she wore her hair in pigtails, I knew, I KNEW the life of the clarinet would continue on. She was a badass. I knew just from looking at her. She marched to her own licorice stick, that was for sure. "I want to bless you with this clarinet, like it was to me. I want you to have it and I don't want to charge you anything. I was in her shoes once and I know what it's like to appreciate what is given to me."
"Really?? Are you sure?"
I looked at the little girl and smiled at her while replying to her mum, "Yes ma'am," as I handed her the envelope, telling her a gist of the contents. She hugged me, "Tell her thank you," she motioned to her daughter, and the little badass did so.
I drove away feeling good, knowing my little clarinet was going to a good home and to someone that needed it, not stuck on a shelf to be stared at.
