Got my clarinet out today because my dad wants to play it again. It's a beautiful instrument he entrusted to my care many years ago - I was always aware of how lucky I was to have it.
Opened the case and the scent hit me like a nostalgia bomb. Walking upstairs, the weight of the bag on my shoulder took me back 20 years, to when it was practically an appendage.
There's a new box of reeds still tucked into a pocket from a few years ago, one I bought before Bear was born and I was trying to find time to play again.
I love this time while my kids are small, but things like this remind me of what I've been missing. I plan to audition for the local city band once it becomes a reasonable thing to commit to.
It's no Marching Illini, but at least it will put my instrument back in my hands where it belongs.