Floating Hope

I crashed last night. Badly. No, not a car or trike collision. This was a brain wreck.

After dinner and telly with Jen and Oni, I came home (all of four steps away!) and worked on some design gig edits. Afterward, all of a sudden, I was seized by the horror of The Amazing Bob’s absence. How can he just be gone, baby, gone? Waddya mean he's not coming back? HOW CAN THIS BE?! NOOOOOOOO! I erupted, all Krakatoa-like, in body-racking sobs.

I’ve NO bloody clue what the specific trigger was this time – maybe there was none. I suppose I really don’t need a grief-prompt. After all, half my insides were ripped out. My hero, my MOST amazing Honey Pie est mort. The pain is never far from the surface.

It’s only been 644 days (15,470 hours!), less than two years, since he shuffled off this mortal coil. Of course I still have episodes of crippling, heartaching misery.

I had a stiff shot or two (OK, maybe it was three) of Jamo and retired to my TAB-less bed.

And woke at 2AM with a blinding compulsion to break out my old flute. I HAD to attempt a C scale. Would I remember the fingerings? (mostly) Would I be able to form my nerve damaged lips into a proper embouchure? (no) And, being all deaf and shit, would I even know whether I was getting a note outta the thin beastie or not? I think I have but need to try this in the presence of a hearing person. Notes, at this point, feel different from plain blown air – there's color and form. The appearance of music.

Gotta say, attempting this was scary as hell. Why am I doing it given the whole nerve damage/deaf thing? I mean, set yurself up to fail much, dearie?

Back in my college music major days, I spent hours and hours – on some days, as many as 12-16 at a go – in the wee, closet-size practice rooms of Cogswell Hall. A not insignificant portion of the time was spent on scales. I formed each note, tried to live within each breath, swam slowly and then quickly, up and down the staff. It was spectacularly meditative. Also a great way to build the chops.

Why did I stop playing? Painting, clay, that pesky day job and the rest of mi vida loca took center stage. Then, later, my hearing tanked and I lost control of some very important, for flute playing, facial muscles. I figured it would be too painful and pointless to try so I didn't.

Once more with feeling, WHY am I sashaying down this terribly unlikely boulevard now?

1. To see if I can!
2. To recapture something that was once mega gratifying and vastly important to me.
3. Because working at getting a real sound (music!) outta the thing will take an effort that might very well retrain and untwist my facial muscles. Call it physical therapy.

IF I can manage to consistently get a sound, I’ll start playing scales again. No, I won’t be giving Ian Anderson or Yusef Lateef* anything to worry about but, ya know, performing for anyone SO ain’t the point of this exercise.

In one of our very first, ZOMG, we're IN LOVE! convos, TAB and I discovered that we both played flute. In those early courting days, we'd get together and attempt duets. We never got very far as he was a self taught jazz/improv dude and I was a regimented, classically trained babe. Different universes. Also too, NECKING – we’d get all distracted and shit by a different kind of duet. Of course!

So, maybe a fourth reason for breaking out the flute, giving it a fresh whirl, is an effort, a hope that I'll find TAB. No, I don't mean that literally – I haven't gone that far 'round the bend (yet) – but maybe I'll feel him in the air around me as I play.

*yes, I know Lateef’s moved on but, ya know, he exists somewhere even if just on vinyl!