postcard
I had my last college concert tonight. It took a lot not to be all emotional and blubbery on stage. I was pretty proud that after Rees's half-hug and "I love you" before I went out to tune the Wind Symphony, I didn't fall to absolute pieces. During our middle piece (my first), I noticed that things were flowing freely and easily and not at all as though the huge "LAST CONCERT" weight was pressing down on my shoulders- and my tear ducts. And then Rees came out to introduce the final number, Postcard by Frank Tichelli. It's not an emotional piece with gorgeous melodies. It's actually sort of crazy, and it's probably a good thing as I did not need any extra emotion tonight. Frenzied chaos would be enough for me. But, he said "I have one last comment," and my stomach dropped. "Oh shit," I thought. "If he starts talking about how it's my last concert tonight I'm gonna..." And yeah. I don't remember anything he said because I was too busy crying in front of an audience full of people. When he finally noticed that I was a TOTAL WRECK, he's like "shit! she starts the next piece!" And I'm like "shit! I start the next piece!" But, I made it through- probably the best I've done with it- my final piece on Crowder Hall stage with the band I've been a part of for four and a half years.
As I put my lovely Shembob (that's my clarinet's name) away this evening, I promised it that this would not be the last time I would see it. I've seen it happen all too often. College or high school ends and they never play again. Not me, my lovely readers. No, not me. I'm going to be that crazy 95 year-old who's still playing in a mediocre concert band and coming back for the Alumni's Pre-Game portion at Homecoming. In fact, you never know when a career change might be in order. There are, after all, Master's in clarinet performance and education to be had and enjoyed. After I make a hell of a lot of money.
As silly as it may seem to become a pile of emotional mush at my final band concert, it's been one hell of a ride these past 13.5 years, and the last 4.5 of them have been a little bit extra special.
As I put my lovely Shembob (that's my clarinet's name) away this evening, I promised it that this would not be the last time I would see it. I've seen it happen all too often. College or high school ends and they never play again. Not me, my lovely readers. No, not me. I'm going to be that crazy 95 year-old who's still playing in a mediocre concert band and coming back for the Alumni's Pre-Game portion at Homecoming. In fact, you never know when a career change might be in order. There are, after all, Master's in clarinet performance and education to be had and enjoyed. After I make a hell of a lot of money.
As silly as it may seem to become a pile of emotional mush at my final band concert, it's been one hell of a ride these past 13.5 years, and the last 4.5 of them have been a little bit extra special.