I just experienced an odd, out-of-body, flashback, time warp, demonic posession type moment.
I assembled my clarinet, gave my woodwind reed a few licks to wet it for proper play, placed it on the mouthpiece, stood in front of some B-flat clarinet sheet music and fully expected that to be where my first official practice in the last 18 years would end.
Then some rather psychotic force took over, and my hands effortlessly fingered song after song, from Twinkle Twinkle and Happy Birthday to Ragtime tunes and Mozart. I never even looked at the fingering chart. Not once. Even sharps and flats. My fingertips slipped from one position to the next as if I'd never had a nearly two decade break from my horn.
My breath technique needs some work. My jaw's aching from tightening it to hit the high notes. I'm guessing I might have trouble counting anything other than four-four time. But my mind and my digits remembered, and I have to say, it felt like coming home.
Next Saturday's my first practice with the community band. We'll see how I fare in a group setting. If I wind up in last chair, I'll reassess my amazement at my quick recollection.
Until then, I'm going to look at my musical hands and head in somewhat wary awe...and savor the moment.
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