Flutacious

So the flute lessons have been going pretty well, except for the fact that I don't know how to play now. My teacher is a toughie (which I need) and a librarian-type person, which means that she expects a lot and doesn't mind picking on me. After two weeks, I was ready to quit. A friend in our community band admonished me not to...to hang in there and keep trying. I feel like a youngster, back at school, getting smacked on the hand with a ruler. But all of this is good. She's having to de-construct all the bad habits that I didn't know I had. Since that's about 47 years of doing some things wrong, it's gonna take awhile. They say that playing an instrument helps keep your brain young and I believe it. But what about those cranky finger joints that want to freeze up and keep me from advancing? Only time will tell.

  One thing that has come to light, with all this noodling around, is that my poor old flute is tired. Thirty years ago, my family gave me money for my 30th birthday to get a new flute. I bought it through a precious, old, crusty instrument broker who allowed me to take home three or four at a time until I found the One. It was actually an old Artley Wilkins model, older than me at the time, that called my name. Solid silver, with a difficult-to-play headjoint that was bigger than Kansas. But it had a sweet warmth that made the extra effort worth it. It was also an in-line flute that was hard to wrap my fingers around. Now the flute is some 65 years old and I'm still a kid but my hands are hurting. I decided I was working too hard, both in my real estate career and in my flute practice, to not buy a new flute. Cue my teacher, who referred me to a broker (the company is called Flutacious, in California -- isn't that darling?!). She sent me four delightful instruments to try out, gloriously shining and new. I practically drooled as I was opening the container. Phone calls and clients irritated me all day before I got a chance to play them. The first one out of the box drew out the youngster (and maybe the Pan) inside me. Remember Christmas morning as a tot? The first time you fell in love? Or maybe when you first tasted the inside of a honeysuckle. The silky sweetness of the sound is filling up my house, new and fresh and springy. I'm still making up my mind about which one I'm going to buy.

 Good grief -- with this magnificent spring weather, the trees showing out with flowers and greenery, the sparkling blue sky and a new flute, I might just bust.