Centering Myself with an Old Familiar Friend

When I was at Steve and Shana’s last weekend, I did something I haven’t done in over 30 years – I opened that old beat up case with the Brendan Tours sticker barely readable to reveal my horn, the brass not quite as smooth and shiny as it once was, but still my horn tucked into the soft black velvet padding; the familiar scent of Al Cass valve oil and STP hit me as soon as I opened it.  My old Schilke 23 mouthpiece was still there, waiting for me, just as I’d left it after my last performance in May of 1988. 

Steve had picked my horn up on his last trip to the lake to see Mom and Dad and brought it across the state for me.  I think they were ready for it to move from their home and come to mine. I know Dad was secretly hoping that I would pick it up again.  Connor and Abby were going up to the loft to practice and Connor asked if he could try playing it, so of course I said that he could, but to be careful with it.  Steve turned around and said, “Are you sure you want him to handle it?  He’s never seen anything with a detachable bell before.”  That was all it took to get me to go upstairs myself. 

When I put the bell on my horn and put my mouthpiece in, I wasn’t sure what to expect from it when I placed it to my mouth and began to blow.  Would it be terrible, toneless and wobbly with a brassy sound more reminiscent of a trumpet, or would it be clear and mellow, a round sound if you will, soft on the edges – just the way a French horn should sound, even when playing “Siegfried’s Call” or the “Ride of the Valkyries” by Wagner?

I placed the mouthpiece to my lips, took a deep breath, and pressed the first key.  I nailed an F immediately, but just to be sure, and since I had two B flat instruments there – a clarinet and a trumpet – I asked Connor and Abby each to give me a B flat for comparison.  Mine was dead on the money!  The tone needs work, but at least my ears still work. 

Dad told me that with a few weeks of practice, it would come right back to me, but I had my doubts.  What does a 52-year-old woman need with her high school instrument anyway? 

Since being home, I have been practicing each day – only one scale, my F scale.  I’ve been teaching my fingers to remember all that they had forgotten, and my embouchure to adjust as needed to reach different notes.  All of the books I ordered to help me remember my fingerings and scales and such tell me that the longest range for a French horn is three octaves.  Yesterday, just for fun (face it, that’s all this is for anyway – if it feels like work or pressure, I will stop doing it!), I practiced going low.  I mean low, low, low!  I made it to the F below the bass clef!  That’s a full octave below any of the books even have fingerings for!  I decided to see what I could do at the top end and made it to B flat above the treble clef, but for the life of me, I couldn’t nail that Super C to save my life!  Ah, well – I made it over four octaves, just as I once did every day! 

I said I would not play in front of anyone, but Abby came home while I was practicing yesterday, and I didn’t stop.  I even showed her what it meant to play “open horn” – practicing scales with no keys, just my ears and my chops.  Dad told me when I was in high school that all that was needed to be a great horn player was “chops and ears”, and that I had those.  I joked about that sounding like some sort of Chinese food – “I’ll have the Chops and Ears with steamed rice and an egg roll!” 

I am working on perfecting my one scale right now – just the one – as well as working on my tone.  I know it will come, and I will once again have the sound that I had as a teenager.  The truth was, I loved playing – until I didn’t.  Honestly, I have missed my old horn, and the feeling of accomplishment that I had when a slayed a piece of music.  I’ve missed having something that I could do better than most people my age, something I was really good at.

I had always wanted to play “The Planets” by Holst and Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition”.  I did both in my senior year in high school, so I felt like I had reached my apex.  Funny that I never thought to learn “Siegfried’s Call”!  Maybe that will be the next big step.  Who knows? 

For now, perhaps I can use my practice as a way to help me center myself and continue to heal from all the trauma I face every day – the focus on what tone I want to produce, how to produce it, what it sounds like, and the breathing that goes with it.  Just for now, I will play and when I do, I will be transported to a time when I was safe, when I was protected; a time before great loss had really touched my life, a time when I was carefree.