Reeds @ MindSay

The new schedule wears on me, so that sleep is a desired but rare commodity. I seize it quite by accident whenever I can't, and attempt to when I cannot. The semester is young. I will adapt.

I find myself waking in the evening - I don't remember falling asleep, or even lying down, really. My bed is bare - that's right, I'm washing linens today.

My eyes land on the silver case, and I'm filled with a sudden horror that it will be empty. It is a dream I woke from, standing on an arch bridge at night, addressing a man who has my beauty and threatens to let her fall into the river. I react with defiance and anger when it is my sisters who are threatened, but in this instance, I can barely speak, only whisper, "Please...no," shaking my head without meaning to, attempting to hold back tears, trying so desperately to convince this stranger of what this means to me. This is a gift I could not afford. This is my beauty, my love. This is my music. My lifestream. My passion. The echo of my soul, I romantically call her, knowing not how to phrase what I mean.

I am terrified to find that I don't know the answer, whether he acquiesced, or doomed me to despair. I am at the case in an instant, opening with trembling fingers the clasps I lock when she goes anywhere with me. The warm gold of her body reassures me, and I lightly run a touch over her, whispering a greeting of love to her. I must play her now, I must. The evening cannot go any further without our music.

The obstacle quickly presents itself.

It is only this week that I've brought the other to school. (Can it really have been a week since we've played together? Can I go a week without touching my love? Reluctantly, I am forced to admit that such a thing is possible). It is impractical to have them both here, and I have yet to discern whether they are jealous of each other. Best to keep them separated for now. But my favorite neckstrap and my reed case are both in the other case. I can make do with another neckstrap, or even without (an impossibility with either of the larger saxes); without reeds, I am forced to silence.

A happy reminder of a friend of mine from school-band - I'd once offered to sell her the remaining half of a box of #2 reeds I have. At the time, I had no further use for them, I was mostly using 2 1/2s. Within six months, I received a late present of a new mouthpiece, and my treasured beauty - both of which I needed the softer reeds for. Perhaps I have one left?

Fate and the Muses are working in tandem tonight to smile on me, I have two, perhaps three left. Time must be taken to break them in properly, particularly as I'm playing on not only a new mouthpiece, but an entirely new horn.

I take one out and begin to soften it, reading of music as I do so. Perhaps I should practice another instrument in this time, one that only makes demands of my hands, but I can't bear for anyone else to interrupt our tryst. Soon, my darling, soon.

There is a music we make that I will play for no one else. Anyone else can come and leave my life, can see us together and not see what she is to me. I will not cheapen this with your blindness. This is the music we make tonight.

Wake to my music, my love. Wake to my hands and my mouth. Wake to the passion I pour through you, the echoing resonance that we are together. Wake to me, as I wake to you.

So, cleaning up my room a bit (as I've been doing for the past week...well, really, since we got back from vacation), listening to music. I'm working on breaking in a new reed, because I only have one that's good for performance.

Actually, I would have completely forgotten about it, but I was putting something away in the drawer where I keep my box of reeds, and figured that I should have another one on hand for Jazz Band tonight.

Singing along with my music (dumped the whole music drive on my playlist again) when it's a song I like. Stuck the bit of wood back in my mouth again, and then paused. This feels right, but it feels too big. Pull it out, scrutinize it for a minute...this is the right brand...oh.

Yep. I've been working on a tenor reed without noticing. I had the box of tenor reeds in my nightstand (most logical place for them, of course) during a season where I was actually playing tenor...but I haven't been since August. If I can't tell the difference between a tenor and an alto the first time I put it in my mouth, I should definitely be concerned about myself. Or at least, pretty darn amused.

Of course, this does raise a rather interesting question.

Where's my box of alto reeds?