I had my second sax
lesson last Monday and I was pleased with the progress I had made. I don’t
expect to be able to make the same report about my next lesson. The past six
days have made me realize that scheduling ones activities in retirement is not
any easier than scheduling them when working full time. Who would have thought?
We made a four-day
trip to Vermont this week to spend time with my sister. This was decided on
months ago. A one-day shift in the timing due to some change of plans on my
sister’s end enabled me to keep my Monday lesson. I brought my saxophone with
me to Vermont, but I practiced there only once, and briefly. The four days away
were bracketed by two days of unanticipated family visits by in-laws. I got no
practicing in on those days.
As I write this, it’s
Saturday night and I’ve run out of steam. For those of you who have been able
to follow this week's saga (and were interested enough to try), that means I’ve practiced
about one half hour in the five days and six nights since my last lesson. That
leaves me just a day and a half to catch up. The odds are not in my favor.
What’s worse is that
my last lesson was on chromatics. Even the most popular sharps and flats use
many of those side keys that challenge my stubby, arthritic hands. They’re also
the notes for which I’ve completely forgotten the fingering. It’s like starting
anew each time I pick up the instrument.
My inner niggler is
telling me that I should be practicing right now. Another niggler is reminding
me that this week’s blog will be at least a day late again even if I finish the
draft now. Then there’s the iCal on my desktop Mac (on which I’m working). It
has reminded me three times that my monthly newspaper column is due in two
days, along with the bi-monthly news article for the Class Notes section in the
Brown Alumni Magazine. I’m the Communications Chair for my class, so that task
falls to me.
You can see where
this is headed. I’m spending my Saturday night triaging the demands on my time.
I want to ensure that no “patients” die on me if I give my sax extra hours
before my Monday lesson. All the while my mind is replaying the old joke: “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice,
practice, practice.” I know I need to practice more even to get to a
community band. But I’ll need to improve enough to be able to play better
pieces before I’ll enjoy putting in the time needed to get there. Remember Catch 22?
Speaking of bands, I
have one other tidbit to share on my Sax Appeal journey. It happened a week ago
tonight, when we were attending the Boston Pops concert at Tanglewood. One of
the men in our entourage introduced himself, after he confirmed my name.
“You’re the sax player, right?” “Not exactly,” said I. “I used to be, and I’m
working on it again.” I asked how he’d heard about my attempts to reboot my
horn skills. Apparently grapevines grow wild in condo communities.
Turns out he’s the
recently installed band director for Wesleyan University, which is just 20
minutes away. This follows a career in directing and several attempts at
retiring, which have all resulted in his going back to the podium again. He’s
trying to get me to join his group. Apparently, though it carries the University’s
name, it’s more of a community band. Some players are in high school and many
are community members, as I would be.
This new director is
trying to raise the level of his assemblage and has somehow concluded that I
can help do that. (From his mouth to God’s ear.) I’m nowhere near ready to play
on a team that carries the word “university” in its name. But it’s comforting
to know that someone feels I might be an asset at some point. He knows of at
least five groups in the area that I could probably join.
This has prompted me
to revise that old joke. Now it’s: “How
do you get to Wesleyan University? Practice, practice, practice.” But first
I need to improve upon my schedule planning. And deal with that maddening Catch
22. Stay tuned.
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